For Better or Worse
by Wildwood Rose
Summary: Deb's POV. They live for better or for worse, a choice for better instead of worse. How I think S8 is going to conclude the show. AN: There are more chapters to follow! Sorry, I didn't realise that post graduate life would be so demanding, and I have abandoned some of my other fic which I need to update. Thanks for the reviews, I will update ASAP
1. Prologue

**hi! So this is my first Dexter fic, I am obsessed with the show, of course , or wouldn't be writing one. Me and my housemates (who are also obsessed) all have a bet as to how Dexter is going to end. So, although this can stand alone, there will be at least one more chapter. I apologise in advance, my typos are notorious, and no matter how many times I check, they always worm past me. Sorry, I am babbling now. **

**- Oh and I don't own anything to do with this fic. **

New Year: New Changes

'Although the state is one of the most conservative states in America; they say that in Miami, a person can do whatever they like and nobody will judge you' - - oh wait, that's Nevada and Las Vegas. What is it they say about Miami...?

...That, 'almost anything and everything strange washes up on its shores'. That, 'if you don't know Spanish, you don't know the language, so you better fucking learn it'.

On the topic of quotes, Garbo once said that, 'a woman in love can't be reasonable, or else she probably wouldn't be in love'. It was also said that, 'you can't buy love, but you can pay heavy for it'.

MIAMI BEACH. Night time. To anyone flying over, it would look like a fucking solar system; but then as you get closer to the runway, the most exquisite sunset; until you make out all those neon lights, and wonder whether you should have brought the multicolour tie-die and large prints that were left back in the 60s. Flying over in the day may not be too different either, with the amount of orange hue walking about, in phosphorescent clothing, - is neon making a comeback?

Reasonably isolated and tucked off in a little hollow on the Florida coastline, just off the southern easter point of South Pointe Beach; a one-level two-bedroom bungalow strategically sits with a distance between Miami Police Department and 8240 Palm Terrace, apartment #10B, Miami, Florida.

True to Miami-style, it is quaintly decorated with white and multicoloured fairy lights. Perched alone on its section of rock, looking out to the wide ocean; it almost resembles a light house, emitting its light as if it was her love, waiting tirelessly and patiently for her lover's ship to come in and return him safely - was it not also said that, 'a woman's heart is like an ocean...?'

Regardlessly, the waves, they sometimes beat lightly against the rock; other times they crash relentlessly; all the time breaking the bungalow's structure, her composure, bit by bit, until eventually she will collapse and eventually perish into the ocean.

She will no longer be a beacon of light for her long awaited lover.

And the waves this winter have been particularly trying.

Enough pathetic fallacy from me. I start my vehicle engine and disappear off into the night.

* * *

Frowning, Harrison looks up from the plastic toy train that had been echoing loudly along his aunt's wooden floors, to regard said person hunched over the kitchen island sink; located in the middle of the very large, sparse open planned room. It isn't like his own kitchen. Nothing about this place, is anything like his own home. Apart from the two photographs that stand on the scarce wooden, aquamarine-painted book shelf; the glass of one of them has been broken.

Harrison clutches his toy harder in his hand, but never moves his concentration off the removed figure.

He has felt like this before, has observed emotion like this before, and the memories shoot unwelcomed tingles through his small, three-year-old body.

It isn't even technically a train he is clutching so tightly in his hand for comfort. Thomas, and the rest of his train set are at his own house.

Harrison doesn't know why he is still here - he doesn't know why he is here in the first place, but he has also, more importantly, never been alone with _her_, for this long without his father, siblings, grandparents, or Jamie. _Jamie_, he wants - needs her. But they had told him that she had gone away.

He wants his father. Him and his father's sister alone isn't a regular thing, and it makes him uneasy.

The front door openes and closes harshly, breaking their ongoing silence.

Desperately, Harrison snaps his head in the direction of the noise, but no one is there.

It is just the wind; which for some weeks now, have been abnormally rough for December/January weather.

Realising nobody is there, Harrison wants to cry, but only lets out a few short quiet, whimpers, before fixing his attention back on his aunt. She remains, unphased.

She has been in that pose for a while now, and he suddenly has an overwhelming crave for attention; he knows that she can be fun, can pull funny faces, run after him for hours on end, almost do anything to make him laugh... But he doesn't know how to initiate conversation first and get her attention. Outside of his Jamie, grandparents and siblings; he has never been encouraged to talk really; the other two, always seem to be more satisfied with just smilies and seeing that he is in one piece.

He is about to make a scream to get her attention, when he gets distracted by a thought. Something, Isabella, who has pretty green eyes, black hair that is always in six plaits, and stares through picture books with him said at pre-school the other day. It had confused him, but his childlike brain had allowed him to almost instantaneously forget his confoundment no sooner as it had arrived. She had pointed to a word in a book and said, 'Mama', before proceeding to annoyingly and rather in-considerately - as he was still reading the book, close it and tell him in a very serious voice, 'I only live with Mama now, not Dada anymore'; before opening the book back up again.

He knew from pick-up time at nursery that, 'mama' were like 'dadas', only older girls who sometimes had long hair. He had called, Jamie, 'mama' once but she had just laughed and shook her head saying that she wasn't him mama, before looking very sad. He didn't ask her again.

One of his teachers, Sister Eloise, had told his class that mama's, as well as dada's love you very much, and because of this you must give them lots of hugs and kisses. She had also said that sometimes you may live with both your mama and your dada, or just one, or neither at all. Which had only confused him more.

He asked his father once, and like Jamie, he proceeded to look very sad. He didn't ask him again either.

Multiple unknown blurred faces flashed through his memory when he thought of his mama. But he wondered now if his father's sister was actually his mama, and because his Jamie had gone, he would like, Isabella, now live with his mama and not his dada...?

After some thought, he shouts clearly and with all certainty across the room, "Mama!"

And he is not wrong. Her head whips around the room and she scurries over to pick him up. Her hands, slim like his Jamie's, but much larger, although not as large or thick as Dada's, enclose around his head and brings it into her strong but warm chest. She places several warm kisses atop his blonde crop of hair, and he nestles into the embrace and scent, which he has just learned is his mama.

Harrison smiles happily, and raising his head, repeates his new favourite word. He catches her eyes, and even his three year-old self knew that she is deeply troubled and sad. His spine tingles, he had seen emotion like this before... But then she smiles, and it seems to melt away her sadness slightly. So he says the word again, and she giggles, water forming in her eyes, but somehow he knows not from unhappiness, and she places a searing kiss on his cheek.

"Mama no sad, Harri' make 'ou 'appy".

"Yes", she agrees beaming. "Harrison makes me happy", tossing him up in the air and catching him so he screams with laughter.

His mama is strong, not like his Jamie; like dada, she could lift him up and upside down, and chase him all over the floor and furniture in her - their home until he has no energy left. She reads him his favourite book over and over again until he was bored of it or would fall asleep. She and him could stay in the bath and sea even after they were all pruney and wrinkley, and she wouldn't make him wear clothes or swim shorts at the beach. Because she was his mama.

**What do you guys think? Reviews are greatly appreciated. If you're a bit ?, it will become clearer in the next chapter - hopefully.**


	2. The White Queen's Gambit

The Queens Gambit

Miami is scorching. It had gone from one extreme to another. The weekend's heavy clouds, rain, and hurricane like winds had drained and brightened up the atmosphere, so that as the Fox weatherman put it this morning, 'it's gonna be a very hot couple of weeks'. Forecast put the temperature at 104, but with the heavy visible hazes of heat waves and every AC outlet cranked up to max; it felt more like 204.

Striding through Miami Metro PD's car park, Deb fixes a polite smile on her face for her passing colleagues. The tan shades of her aviators do their best to hide her troubled scowl. The sudden loss of her car's AC sends a prickly heat through her body, and she's glad that she chose to uncharacteristically wear a flowy mid length tan skirt. Extra air circulation. Opting to park in a vacant space near the exit than to wade out the queue to her designated, 'LT', spot near the building, it's a long way to the front. She speeds up her pace, eager to be in contact with cool air again. The steady, crisp clips of her heels echoing louder against the concrete.

The car park is busy at 9:00am, much busier then her normal ETA of 7:30, and she fixes her gaze on to the ground two metres in front of her. She'll be delivering the Monday morning 'pep' talk; but with her two week absence, she doesn't know what the fuck on.

Eventually, she feels obliged to mumble a few, 'hellos', in response to what she feels are slightly over enthused greetings of her return; knowing her own outward friendly gestures are small and tight in comparison, but about all she can muster.

Besides, she doesn't deserve their warmth and greetings.

If they knew what she had done...

Irritably, she stops momentarily to fuss with her skirt lining, "fucking skirt"; before marching on through the noisy weaves of cars and colleagues. She refocusses her attention to the ground; everything else around her is white noise.

* * *

The people traffic, it seems is resigned to outside rather than inside, as somehow Deb manages to get the lift all to herself.

She's glad for it, and once safely inside, allows herself to loosen.

Shudders visibly run through her over how much Harrison is like his father. Visually - yes, but she has noticed that he has picked up a few of Dexter's mannerisms:

His intent stare.

His meticulousness.

His smile.

All harmless at three years old, but what in ten years time...?

What other traits may he pick up...?

This is precisely why what she did had to be done.

* * *

"LT!" Someone calls as soon as she emerges out of the lift, and at the same time grabs the back of her shoulder.

Deb whips round at the sound of her name; so consumed by her thoughts, her heart picks up its beat so that it is going at a hundred miles an hour.

It's Masuka.

She remembers to breath, her hand finds her heart. "Fuck Masuka! Do you have to be such a creep?!"

"Hu hu hu hu", he laughs. "Nice to see you too".

"I'm sorry. I'm a little out of it", she starts to apologise, feeling guilty over her unwarranted explosiveness. "It's nice to see you too but a little war-" she frowns as she watches his eyes rake over her body, and punches his shoulder. "My face is shitting up here". Her eyes narrow on him. "You know what, I take back what I said-".

"Hey Conyo", Angel, clad in another one of his terrible tourist Hawaiian shirts, lightly shoves Masuka, before going to embrace Deb in a hug.

Deb accepts it willingly, and breathes in his comfort. She clings on for maybe to long as he moves one if his large hands and rubs it against her back soothingly.

"Hey Mami? Are you OK?" He asks, gently pushing her away to hone in on her face.

She sees concern in his warm dark chocolate eyes, and she bites back tears she didn't know where lacing her eyes.

She doesn't deserve his comfort.

"Yeah", she coughs, frowning. "I guess I missed this place more than I thought".

"Hey"' Masuka grins, never really one for sentimentality, "it missed you too", widening his suggestive grin and waggling his eyebrows.

She shoves him again playfully, "creep", she smiles.

But Angel taps him on the back of his bald head. "Don't worry Deb. He's only getting it all out before your brother arrives. Where is he?"

Uhhhm.

"Hey!" A hand falls on the small of her back, and she would push it away if she wasn't so thankful for the distraction.

Quinn.

"Hey!" She smiles embracing him, hoping that he doesn't take her eagerness the wrong way. But from the glint in his eyes as she pulls away, she thinks maybe he has. He had tried to make a pass at her at Angel's New Years party three weeks ago.

But then Dexter was there to fend him off.

It seems it would be more awkward and suggestive if she were to just break their eye contact, so she just carries on smiling at him. Watching his stare getting all the more intent and hopeful and his smile getting all the more wider.

They are all four stand in an awkward silence.

She twitches her lip, and he finally breaks their moment.

"So, uhh?" Quinn scratches the back of his head smiling. "How was your trip? Your back like a week early, but what do you call this timing? It's like past 9:00 already", he chuckles.

"Yeah. Where's Dexter? He isn't here yet, and he's always early. We guessed maybe you were coming in, and he was late because he bringing you in or something?" Angel persists.

What is with the third degree?

Not really wanting to answer any of the questions, she starts the walk to her office. "There is such a thing as flexi-time you know guys", she laughs off the first question, as all three men trail behind her. "I had to take Harrison to pre-school, drop off isn't until after 8:00. And my trip was great thanks", she hurries on to the next question.

"Yeah", Masuka enthuses, "you're looking very brown. Thought it was Christmas, Hanukkah and Eid all in one before I realised you were wearing a skirt and hadn't just turned up to work half naked".

"Yeah, or anatomically incorrect", Quinn inputs laughing, "which believe me, she's not", he adds quieter but not completely out of Deb's earshot.

"Just proves my theory, that he's never actually had sex", Angel jokes.

"Guys-", Masuka starts his objection.

They've reached the door to Deb's office, and she knows that she has lost them to their...'discussion'. So slips in quietly, turning the lock behind her, before switching on the light and closing the shades.

She lets out a heavy uneven sigh of relief. She's made it into her office.

Turning around, she lets out a deep groan, confronted by the overwhelming piles of paper work sprawled across her desk.

* * *

The morning pep talk turned out to be easier than she thought, and consisted of everyone just updating her on what she had missed during her absence, which in terms of homicide was nothing really. Miami had been on its best behaviour while she was away, and in consideration of the big pile of paper on her desk, was a God send. With La Guerta's untimely departure, Matthews had been reinstated as chief; although it was Deb who had acquired all her paper work - which wasn't the worse thing.

Outside Matthew's office, Deb raps loudly on the door. He beckons her in.

"You wanted to see me sir?" She formally addresses the ageing man who she has known her whole life, and who every time she sees him, cannot help but wish that it was her own father instead.

He looks up, and smiles widely at her. His mood reflecting that of his also very uncharacteristic sunshine yellow tie.

"Yes Debra, please seat", he gestures to the seat in front of him and stands while she takes her seat, before sitting back comfortably in his own chair. He lets out a satisfied sigh and smiles.

Deb trails her eyes across the room over the familiar bric a brac - he didn't take long to move back in.

"Feels like I never left", he smiles.

"Feels like that too", she smiles through gritted teeth, although why she doesn't know. She has nothing to fear of him... apart from unknowingly helping La Guerta to sabotage him... Well a fat lot of help that was too her in the end.

He presses the intercom, "would you like any refreshments?" He asks.

She shakes her head.

"Coffee? Whiskey?" He chuckles.

"No I'm fine", she smiles politely. She wants this meeting over and done with ASAP.

He smiles, taking his finger off the intercom, and lets out another satisfied sigh, lovingly raking his eyes over his office, before settling his gaze back on her.

"You look good Debra. Healthy. Those weeks off did you good".

"...Thank you, sir", she smiles, flicking back stray strands of her sun tanned hair behind her gold studded ears.

"Please, when its just you and me, it's Tom".

She nods her head - that's not going to happen.

His face suddenly goes serious, and her stomach braces itself for the worse. He skirts his finger across the desk, before he leans back in his big ass office chair, bringing his hands together in a steeple. "Why I asked you here, was just to catch up. See that you're fine. Which-", his hands point out to her direction, "I can now see that your are". He clears his throat, "and to re-offer you the promotion to Captain".

She goes to open her mouth, but he cuts her off.

"I know, I know, when we first offered it to you, you said no ...upset over what happened to Maria. But me and the board were hoping, with your weeks off, you had perhaps, reconsidered your decision".

She goes to open her mouth again, but he cuts her off again.

"You wont be out in the field as much, and I know how much you like that. But it will be higher pay, less hours. I don't know", he laughs embarrasedly, "maybe start thinking of settling down, giving Harry another grandchild", he chuckles. "I know he's not here in person to see it, or say it, but that's what he would have wanted. To see you settled down and happy".

...?

"Now you don't have to give an answer right away. Just think on it".

She nods, and moves to leave, but then stops. "Can I ask sir. If I did say yes, who would uhm get the promotion to LT?"

"Well there are names rolling about", he straightens the cuffs of his grey tailored work suit, "Angel Batista-"

Oh. That means something.

-"your brother, ma-".

"Dexter?!" She stops short, mouth literally hanging.

"Well ma-"

"Dexter wouldn't know a flying fuck about how to manage homicide", she hopes that her cheeks, rougeing through her lie go unnoticed. "Sorry".

Matthews chuckles, playing with his tie, absently nodding at her declaration. "Well I admit that it was I who put Dexter's name down, and truth be told, Batista is the most likely bet".

"...Why would you do that sir?"

Matthews sighs, halting his strokes against his tie. "Because like you, I want to see Dexter settled and happy. He has responsibilities, responsibilities that would be easier with a higher paid job. And your father was a dear friend of mine. I have no children, so making sure they are happy and settled in not only for my friend, but for myself".

Debs eyes widen as Matthews goes serious again, unconsciously leaning back as he edges closer across the desk.

"I want you to know that if you or your brother ever need, anything, anything", he leans back, flicking his hand to add emphasis, "if you're ever in trouble or anything. All you need do is ask, and I - and Maura, will do our best to assist".

Debra is almost dumbstruck by his private proclamation. But manages to nods, warily getting up and heading towards the door.

She turns, when her hand rests in the door handle. She feels like she should apologise about her play in his sabotage... but at the same time she was doing her job. Although when does, 'doing her job', have credence anymore.

Matthew smiles at her, as if reading some of her thoughts. "Where is that brother of yours anyway?"

* * *

Matthew's words play in her mind throughout the day. Detectives come in and out of her office. Quinn, for no apparent reason other than to sleazily loiter.

Masuka, the same.

Masuka, asking where Dexter is.

Masuka.

Quinn.

She has lunch with the guys, and when in private, tells Angel about her promotion offer. He saddens, she thinks over the memory of Maria, other than disappointment the he was not offered the job, but says he thinks she should go for it. To be honest, she is certain, Angel, is the best person for the job as Captain, and her stomach still goes funny over the thought of filling her dead superiors shoes.

She doesn't tell him about him or Dexter being in line for getting the position of LT.

* * *

It's nearing 15:00, and Deb is clearing up for the day, as Harrison has been at pre-school since 8:00, she wants to pick him up by 16:00.

She is however interrupted by the rap on her office door.

"Yep!" She shouts distracted. Locking as much of Maria's paperwork into her desk filing cabinets as possible. It has been _revealing_ to say the least.

She looks up. "Angel?"

He smiles.

"Clearing up for the day?" He questions confused, stepping further into her office.

"Yeah. Want to pick Harrison up by 16:00".

He makes a face. "How come Dexter isn't?"

It's an innocent enough question.

She shrugs, smiling all too sweetly while reaching quickly for her bag and keys.

"Where is Dexter?" He probes further.

"I don't know?!" she says exasperatedly. "What am I? My brother's fucking keeper?!" She snaps.

Angel's face falls, and he looks down at the form in his hand.

"Angel... I'm sorry. Fuck"

Angel looks up, with a small forgiving smile on his face.

"Fuck. I'm really sorry. It's just been a long day. Dexter asked me to watch over Harrison", she lies, "I think maybe there is something up with Astor's and Cody's grandparents".

He nods, but she doesn't feel quite forgiven, or redeemed - well as much as she feels she can be.

"How's Jamie?"

His face lightens up at that.

"Really good. I got an email from her just last night. She's in Guam".

"Guam. God, that sounds like shitting heaven. Well", she perks up an eyebrow, "after looking after my nephew, I know she definitely deserves that break", she smiles.

And he chuckles. For now, all is forgiven again.

She rests a gentle hand on his shoulder as she exits her office.

"See you tomorrow", he says.

"See you tomorrow", she turns, "and Angel, I really am sorry".

He shrugs, "nyah, forget it. I have".

"You're to good to me. I don't deserve your kindness", she smiles sadly, before going very solemn.

He smiles in return, chuckling; unbeknownst to how true her words are.

* * *

Sitting on her outdoor porch swing, knocking back a beer and listening to the theraputic sounds of the waves sway lightly across the rocks. The night's soft and gentle breeze, lightly flowing through her long plait and across the small golden hairs on her bare skin.

Its 21:00, Harrison has been entertained both at home and at the beach, fed, bathed, read, _Green Eggs and Ham_, three times and tightly tucked and fast asleep in her spare room's sofa bed. Deb can't believe how easy today went; how easy it was to forget, and act like all that had happened, hadn't happened. She has come a long way from waking up every morning, going to sleep every night, and sometimes waking up in the dead of the night, crying. Scrubbing herself until she is red raw, wanting nothing more than to be rid of her body and the person she has become.

In the light emitted by the outside fairy lights; she looks down at the hand drawn picture restong on her lap, an original, Harrison, aged 3 and 5 months piece of art. There are various conjoined shapes, which from the smiles planted on the top of them, she guesses are people. A mixture of brown and yellow crayola lines spurting out of the top of one, he has even detailed with massive rings the green specs in her brown eyes. The smaller figure, has blonde hair and blue eyes. Both figures are holding hands. At the top it writes:

'_I love Mommy_'.

And then at the bottom:

_'Love Harrison'. _

The 'r's' are backwards and the 'o's' look more like a's, but Deb is not only sure why, but certain that her gambit, was the right thing to do, maybe even the only.

* * *

**__****_I couldn't remember whether Angel still had the restaurant or was working back at Miamia Metro or what...?_**

**_So...? What thoughts are whirling around your mind. Where is dear Dexter? And does Debra know? Matthews?_**

**_I have come up with an actual plot, so there is more to come, and I hope to get it finished by 30th June, but we'll see.  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, follows, and to who favourited. Until next update :)  
_**


	3. Stalemate

A/N - so I made quite a few mistakes last chapter, sorry - but prepare to be amazed at how well I worm my way round them, or how well I don't- haha... : .

Anyway, without further ado:

**Stalemate**

_06:16_

The toothbrush sags in Deb's mouth as she listens to this morning's 'Breaking News' report:

'_One unidentified white female found dead near the shores of South Pointe Beach'._

South Pointe Beach - that is _her_ fucking beach. Her's and Harrison's.

She rushes to the window and parts the blinds. Peering on her tiptoes, she takes a panoramic scan for anything out of the ordinary...

Nothing. Must be further up the beach. She snaps the blinds shut and goes back to the report on the news:

'_Waist length brown hair, pulled back into a plait'.  
'Presumed high school student by her uniform'.  
'Private school'._

Her days of desk work are well and truly over now. Deb grumbles, not completely sure if she likes that or not. Now that Harrison's in the picture...

She frowns. Suddenly, wondering why her phone hasn't been ringing off like a priest on a bunch of sinners.

From the images on the television, it is already building to be a media frenzy.

She grabs her cell from the kitchen counter for messages, there are none, text nor voice.

Why in hell hadn't she been notified?

She rushes to the kitchen sink to spit. "Harrison!" She calls, grabbing the nearest cup and gargling. "Harrison!" Stray hairs from her wet bundled hair, stick to the small blonde ones down her back.

Now her phone buzzes.

"Yeah", she answers disjointedly through a combination of water and minty fresh toothpaste spit.

Quinn.

"Yeah, I just saw it on the God damn news. How come I heard it from a fucking news reporter with the rest of Miami? It's going to be a bitch of a media frenzy by the time we get there".

She scoffs at Quinn's response. "Yeah, well you really gotta worry about society, and how well the public think we are doing our jobs, when a person thinks to call the media before the law".

"Well, I'm on my way-", she rests her cell against one ear. Not long out the shower, she's still only in her underwear, and rushes into her room to grab her dark navy blue pencil skirt out of the wardrobe, before grabbing the coordinating shirt, and nude heels. She glances at her top drawer across the room - fuck tights, it's too fucking hot out for nylons. "Lucky me, it's in my shitting neighbourhood".

"Ma-ma!" an excited Harrison bounces into her room; Clarence tightly in his grip.

"Gotta-go Quinn", she hurries, abruptly ending the call.

Deb regards Harrison and smiles; he's still only in the pull ups that he slept in. His hair is all disheveled, and the expression he is wearing on his face, reminds her of-

She doesn't allow that thought to finish, and kneels to his height. "We have to go somewhere for Mommy's work really quickly before we drop you off at nursery, OK?"

"OK", he repeats unsure and sticking his fingers in his mouth.

Deb pulls them out and kisses them, before dropping all the items in her hand and scooping Harrison up in the air so he squeals in delight. Then attacks his neck with kisses, making him squeal even louder.

"Well-let's-get-you-dressed", she says in between kisses, walking them both to the guest room.

"Harri' want w'r 'ull upses to nurs'ry!" he declares jovially.

* * *

_06:41_

It's hotter than hell outside, and no amount of AC deters the suns rays from pounding down against Deb's forehead through the car windscreen, helping to contribute to what may be, the biggest fucking headache.

What the fuck to do? What the FUCK TO DO!?

She's at a crossroad, the light is green for her to go. If she turns left, she's enroute to the crime scene - where she should be. Forwards - Miami Metro. Right - Harrison's day care, which she can't leave him there for another hour and twenty minutes.

The collected honking cars behind are not making her predicament any easier.

Fuck! Think. Deb. Think!

She glances up into her rear view window to the back, Harrison is nestled comfortably in his car seat, Clarence safely sucking in his mouth. It seems to be a habit of his, she should really tell him to stop... germs...bacteria... She glances back at the crossroad and sighs in relief as the lights turn red again.

She can't take Harrison to a crime scene. That's out of the question. What the fuck was she thinking?

She could wait the time out at the nursery car park... or even better work - work, yes, that is where she will go. She lets out a sigh of relief. The lights turn green again, and she moves to go, but not before about four or so cars whiz past her; the blacked out wound up windows not entirely omitting her directed obscenities.

"Happy fucking morning to you too", she mutters.

* * *

_07:11_

"Dada works here!" Harrison squeals excitedly, pointing to MMPS building as Deb manoeuvres him out of his car seat and on to her hip. She places his sun hat on him.

"Mama my dada works here", he repeats again over her silence.

"Really", she indulges, reaching in for his small rucksack.

"Yes!" he says certain. "Are we going to see my dada?" he asks, poking his finger into is mouth.

Deb removes it and kisses it, placing his toy train in his hand. "He's not here, Little Man. Here, take care of Clarence".

After locking the car, she reaches into her skirt pocket for her cell. Resting hers and Harrison's combined weight against the car, she scrolls through the names. Angel...? Masuka...? Quinn...? She decides Masuka, he'll ask the least questions.

She puckers her lips at Harrison for a kiss, who kisses her hard on the lips. She giggles.

"LT?"

"Masuka-"

"-LT you are seriously not calling me mid-sex. Unless your with a girl, and then its totally hot".

She hears Angel ask if that's her on the line.

"Get your mind out of the fucking gutter. Harrison was giving me a kiss".

"Dexter's kid?"

"No, Mary fucking Teresa's", she sighs, "I told you I'm looking after him for a while".

"Well how longs a while, my balls could use a second opinion, and we could really use our LT down at the crime scene".

"Give me an update".

"Well there's _blood_", he pauses, and Deb rolls her eyes. "Everyone knows how I'm the fucking expert on blood", he sighs before continuing. "The body was flung into the sea, although the killer won't be representing us in upcoming Olympics, as it washed back. From the heavy blood spatter on the beach, it seems like the killing was done not too far from the waters edge... maybe in a haste...?"

"That's great Masuka. Keep me updated. I'll be in my office. I hope to get to you guys in the next hour and half", she hangs up before he can complain, and heads from her LT car spot to the building entrance.

She's so preoccupied by Harrison, that she doesn't notice the swarm of reporters until one of them shoves a microphone between them.

"Lieutenant Debra Morgan, Miami Metro Homicide. Update us on the private school girl killing case. Has she been I.D'd? Do we know what school? Has the school been informed? And should parents be keeping their high school aged girls at home until further notice? I see that you have brought your own child to work, should the warning transcend to keeping all children at home, or if parents can, to work?"

Flustered, and off guard, Deb merely gapes. Shifting Harrison and their bags uneasily in her arms, she brings his head down to her chest to conceal his face from the cameras, glad that she put his hat on.

"Excuse me", she mumbles eventually, dodging her and Harrison through the myriad of reporters.

* * *

_11:43_

Miami is sizzling by lunch time, and despite the cooling blast of AC in the ride over, Deb is still hot and sticky from the crime scene. And for the life of her why...? Sand, where there is not supposed to be sand. She is going to have to start packing her own extra clothes for work like Harrison.

Fanning her chest with her shirt, she smiles at the thought, whilst locking the car and making her way to MMPS. LT spot again, close to the air conditioned building.

She brakes suddenly however at the sounds of a insistent car horn.

What the fuck?

That's the second time she's almost been ran over today. Now, and as she made her back back to the car after dropping Harrison off.

Like before, the car hover and waits.

"Well go the fuck up, if your in such a hurry", she mumbles, but gestures widely with her hands.

It goes, she frowns after it. Georgia licence plate. Is it the same car? She wasn't really concentrating the first time, she was so preoccupied with just getting to the crime scene. A white blur maybe. This car is white...?

She shrugs, there is a murder to solve, and Miami are hot on their toes. This time she does stop to give the press a statement.

* * *

Once inside the building, she's glad to find herself the only one waiting for the lift. When it arrives, she presses her level and the lift door close, but someone slips in. Her lips twitch in annoyance, focussing her attention on her heels. The lift moves and she lets out an audible irritated sigh; she's come to like her quiet moments in the lift. Nowadays they are the -

But suddenly, and before she knows it, the lift stops its ascent with a heavy jolt.

Her arms are twisted uncomfortably behind her back.

She is pinned against one of the lift walls.

Her assailant breath, heavy down her neck.

She's not worried though.

Albeit the slightly repugnant odour, she knows that scent.

It's distinct to her.

... _Dexter_.

A breath hitches in her throat but other than that, she gives nothing away.

Her wrists are bundled into one tight grip, while the other one clamps over her mouth. Her nostrils flare at the smell of blood, she brings her gaze down and spies some trapped underneath his fingernails.

Languidly, he moves the hand from her mouth to grip around her neck, taking her long dark sun-tipped plat to one side with it. He yanks it harshly before a finger playfully worries a protruding neck vain; his hand draws her closer to him, squeezing her hyoid bone so that her mouth instantly salivates as it panics for air.

Because of her heels, she stands slightly taller than him, but they line up perfectly. Deb feels uncertainty, repulsion, but even worse, aroused. His lips ghost her ear, nipping the bone deliciously as he speaks.

"You can't just take me son away from me", he hisses like the vile but apple-tempting snake that he is.

_Don't bite_.

"He is my son!" He shouts stubbornly.

But she stays quiet, and his hands tighten their grip on her skin.

His chuckle makes her hairs prickle.

"All I need is to tighten my grip", his voice is hot and breathy travelling through the hollows of her ear, beating hard on its drum.

Deb remains silent.

Roughly, he grabs her by her hip bone and whips her around so she is facing him.

Her heart is beating out of her chest because of the suddenness of the movement, and takes in apt lung fulls of breath. Her forehead frowns slightly in confusion when she realises, so is he.

Adjusting her bewildered eyes, she takes in his appearance more. He looks fucking shit. His jaw is covered with thick gingerish-brown bristles; heavy lines etched around his forehead; his eye sockets look bruised and hollow and his pupils are fully dilated, black and wild, like shark eyes.

His nostrils flare as he breathes in and out noisily; an exposed tooth bites hard on his bottom lip. The gusts of his breath hit forcefully on her face.

They stand without speech.

After a while, she instinctively squirms against his restricting grip. She is surprised when he lets her go.

He steps back and she can take in more of his appearance.

His muscle forest-green t-shirt is quite heavily soiled with blood, dirt, and other stains she doesn't know. His grey khakis and army-esque lace-up boots are also heavily soiled with dirt.

Her sage eyes reach back to his. Harrison's intent stare. But there is something else in his glint, it is almost as if he is putting on a show for her. That he wants her to see him like this. What she has made him become.

So un-meticulous.

So against his code.

Giving him the once over again. She turns her back to him and presses for the lift to go again.

It re-starts its ascent with a jolt, and she fixes back her hair and suit, trying to re-compose herself.

"I could ruin you", he hisses.

"So could I", she whispers. "Then where would Harrison be?"

She hears his retort hitch in his voice.

The natural thought is his step-children, Astor's and Cody's grandparents, but they're slowly reaching their seventies; it's a wonder they can handle two teenagers, let alone a three-year old.

"I'm warning you Dexter. Back the fuck away from us", she warns.

The lift doors open and she exits.

She doesn't turn to gauge his reaction, or to see if he is following her.

Once inside her office, she calls the nursery to make sure Harrison is still there. He is. She repeats her instructions, no one but her can sign him out of nursery. They assure her that no one will. She puts the phone down, and sighs a disimbangled sigh of relief; her body is too smart to believe that she is safe.

* * *

_12:52_

Lunch for the Miami Metro Homicide staff, is feasted with an array of strong smelling greasy Gringo-Mexican food, around the main conference room. Set in the background,in the middle of the room, a blank flip chart, blank white board, and expanse white cork board, with a collection of photographs of the unnamed murder victim taken by Masuka earlier that morning.

Deb sits at the forefront of team, shovelling some sort of greasy meat flour tortilla, with minimal salad down her throat. "OK people"' she says in-between chewing, "what have we got?"

But it's going to take them a while to settle, like Deb, this is probably their first meal of the day.

"Hey Angel", Masuka shouts across the rooming, loudly slurping his soda down with a mouthful of meat. "Pity you don't still have that restaurant, this meat tastes like dog", he spits, taken a second hungry bite.

"Only you would know what your own kind taste like", Quinn teases and Angel laughs.

"If you got it from that little shack down the road, it probably is".

"My insides were devouring each other, fuck was I going to wait twenty minutes for Al to get to my order", he stops and stares dubiously at his sandwich, before shrugging, "meat is meat".

"OK people", Deb tries again, putting her food to the side. "Where are-", but she is interrupted by Masuka again. Fuck Masuka, she is about to complain, until she follows everyone's eyesight.

Dexter.

Washed and changed.

He's kept the beard though.

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late, but I thought you could all wash your lunch down with some doughnuts", he grins his cheesy, over-the-top 'doughnut giving grin', opening his two boxes of dozen jam glazed doughnuts. It's so fake, it makes Deb's skin crawl, why can't the others see it to...?

But instead, just like that, people accept. Crowding around him and his blood offering like he's a long lost heroic soldier.

He laughs with others at his beard.

At his clear weight loss.

His raggedy shit tired face.

He talks animatedly...she guesses about where he says he has been.

She has to fight admiration.

"OK people", she tries for a third time, but this time they instantly quieten and draw their attention on her, and she wonders annoyingly, if this is because Dexter is back.

She doesn't look but she can feel his stare in her. It makes her hot, flustered, fight for her breath, her voice and hands tremble, as she picks up whatever memo she had written to address. She can't even make her own writing.

"Uhm...", she starts.

"New homicide case", she hears Angel whisper to Dexter, and she raises her eyebrow.

"Yeah, I heard it all on the news. That's why I'm here. Deb insisted I came in".

She can't move, she knows his stare is still on her, and its suffocating. She thought going back to normal life would be hard, but these few days proved that it wasn't, but Dexter turns out to be the real clincher, and she doesn't know if she can do it. A mixed fountain of unwanted thoughts and feelings that she thought she put to rest, start to slowly rise again, drowning her.

"Uhm...", but she is saved by the knock on the office. She looks up, straight into Dexter's eyes, she quickly averts them round him and his very prominent, fully erect body before she even has time to read them.

Matthews. Signalling her over.

She nods and clears her throat. "Uhm... Angel?"

Angel nods understanding and takes her place at the front.

* * *

Deb has been made captain and Angel lieutenant. That's why Matthew's had called her in, the board had to and made their final decision, Matthew's had brought her in to congratulate her. And at the same time, warn her over her conduct of the first ambushed interview earlier this morning, especially now that she was captain.

"Debra?" Matthew's asks over her silence.

_Dexter. Harrison. Maria. Harrison. Dexter_. Deb blinks, and smiles, knowing that she most look like a deer trapped in headlights. Then nods. "Sorry sir, I have to leave", she says getting up. "Harrison wasn't feeling well this morning. I only took him to nursery because of this ca-"

Matthew's holds up his hand and chuckles, "say no more. Consider it an early perk of your promotion. Take the rest of the afternoon off".

She nods thanks, wondering whether an 'afternoon off' would be enough. Or whether she would be away for a much longer time...

"Say, was that your brother I saw the back of?"

"Y-ye-yes", she managed.

"Good", he smiled, rubbing his hands together. "I'm sorry I couldn't get him that promotion".

She frowns and shakes his head.

"He's back to work on the case?"

She is silent.

"Yes", she says, making Matthew's eye contact. "I insisted he came in", she repeats Dexter's lie.

* * *

_13:45_

Enroute to Harrison's nursery. Deb couldn't help but think whether there was a link between Dexter's sudden appearance and the new homicide case. But Dexter wouldn't kill a high school girl - would he...?

Harrison was overjoyed to see her, and she held him for a long time when he ran up to her hug. Inhaling his scent.

In the car park, she was almost ran over again, but not by a car, another human being.

"Oh sorry", the figure apologises and she chills, instantly.

"Dada!" Harrison lets go of her hand and rushes towards his father.

"Hello Son...my sun", he breaths his son's scent in deeply.

Deb stays silent, bundled with Harrison's things, her eyes fixed on the tarmac, until she feels his hand enclose her neck, he squeezes it slightly, reminding her of earlier in the lift.

"Where's your car?"

* * *

_14:17_

Deb drives the three of them back to her bungalow on Beach Pointe.

They are stuck in traffic for about 10 minutes at the cross roads.

They enter the house together as a family, and Dexter suggests they spend the rest of the day at the beach.

He doesn't let Harrison out of his sight, and neither does she. Both understanding that neither will run and leave him with the other.

A stalemate.

"No 'wim cos'um?" Harrison asks Deb, when he sees that they are about to leave and she is still in her work clothes. Dexter still fully clothed, he doesn't question.

Dexter smiles and raises an eyebrow at her.

She takes Harrison into the bathroom with her while she changes. Dexter follows and stops her from closing the door, leaving a slither of a gap open. "Just in case you get any ideas", he says.

She slips her gym clothes on over fawn bikini, tying the laces of her running shoes in a double knot.

They walk with a wide distance between each other down the beach; Harrison happy on his father's shoulders, Deb trudging a few paces behind them.

Does he not feel the heat? She wonders looking on at Dexter's laced up boots, his brown combat trousers and white muscle shirt.

She starts to slow as they approach closer to the crime scene. Dexter stops at the tape, looking on before turning to regard an uneasy Deb.

He waits a few moments before trudging back down the beach.

What the fuck was that about? Deb wonders, playing nervously with the end of her plait. Not liking the ideas of why that are already forming in her mind, and once again a prickly sweaty heat encompasses her body, as she troubledly walks behind father and son.

* * *

Deb strips down into her bikini and spends the next couple of hours playing in the sea and on the beach with Harrison. Dexter watches on with a non-committed stare.

Harrison alternates, bringing his bucket and spade to his father, and Deb runs up and down the beach, a close eye always fixed on the both of them.

Never once do brother and sister play together.

The sun is already setting when they reach the bungalow.

Dexter announces that he will make dinner, and Deb wordlessly excuses her and Harrison to the bathroom. He follows closely behind them, leaving a wider gap open on the door. She can hear him chop chop chop the onions through the silent home, and echoing chopping board wood, until she turns the shower spray on her and Harrison.

Dried and dressed for bed, she leaves Harrison to play in the spare room, while she goes on a hunt for her cell. Entering the kitchen, she see's it close to Dexter's side. Carefully placed.

She sniffs the air, he's made steaks. Red meat, bloody and rare, his speciality.

She walks up quietly and quickly to grab her cell, she doesn't even have time to react as his hand shoots out and grabs around her neck, a syringe quickly at its side.

She starts to hyperventilate and searches Dexter's eyes for anger, remorse, but finds something worse - no emotion at all.

She frowns incredulously at him. By his grip on her neck, she knows she can't make a sound even if she tried. She sees something flicker in his eye, but its gone too quickly for her to read what.

Her hands desperately grab around her for something...

Anything...

Her hand finds her cell, but clumsily pushes it on the floor, it makes a loud banging noise but nothing more.

Dexter snarls, and Deb tries to swallow, but can't...

The saliva building within her bridges her nose...

She gasps...

She gasps again...

Tears collecting in her eyes as she feels everything go fuzzy and white...

He moves the syringe into her view, and her eyes shakily watch it move closer back to her neck.

She looks back to search Dexter's eyes. In desperate last attempt to find something that they once had, that they had before she betrayed him and his trust.

She gasps...

Her eyes closing...

"You' 'urtin' Mama?" Harrison asks confused, fingers lodged in his mouth, and Dexter drops everything, stepping back, breathing just as heavily as Deb, with the same confused look as Harrison, darting between his sister and his son.

Queens advantage.


	4. The Black Knight

The Black Knight

Miami was muggy and hot; the type of weather where you could feel the sweat of the others around you clogging your skin. The clouds dismally floated like balloons, fat with warm air vapour waiting to combust - the mood of many of her citizens.

Deb.

Dexter.

And pretty much all of Miami Homicide, who were in danger of having their balls served to them on a poor-mans platter.

Two full days had passed since the high schooler's body had been found, and there had been no new leads or developments. The saying, 'no news is good news', definitely didn't resignate. As the Fox news presenter so eloquently put it on last night's late news, 'there isn't a man, woman or child in Miami, whose heart weren't bleeding for their city's fallen angel, and her family, and eagerly wait for her killer to be brought into the light and given his justice'.

Which was bullshit in the reporters mouth, because as over televised as it was, no parent had come forward about a missing daughter, no school about a student, and no eye witnesses - not even the person who found her body. Miami eagerly waited the, 'all clear', so they no longer had to keep their pent up daughters under lock and key.

No news was good for the news networks however; and the longer the media had no new developments to broadcast, the further they stuck that red hot poker up the law enforcements ass'.

Lucky Deb, addressing the media came under her job description - both of them.

And Dexter... Well, you could argue that his balloon had already popped, and that he is now loose hot air trying to desperately put himself back together.

* * *

_07:30_

It's the second day Deb has left the house for work with a heavy heart and silver scarf wrapped and knotted around her neck, to disguise the heavy bruises left by her brother. Her watch, and a chunky aquamarine and silver bracelet do their best to hide the ones on her wrists.

Her hip, her neck, her wrists, her head, and most of all her heart, aches, with every move.

All the consequence of him.

All a far time from fading.

She has Harrison planted on her hip. Not the side with the plump plum-purple and rouge bruise from where Dexter'd gripped her harshly in the lift. Nevertheless, her weighted bag still knocks painfully against it as she tries to manoeuvre everything out the front door.

She had checked only two minutes ago, but still, she wants to be sure. Freshly post-assault, on Thursday, she had only just managed to catch Harrison in time.

It's clear though, and she hurries to her car.

What did it even mean though, him leaving it outside for her...?

Was it a message of what was to come...?

Was he planning on doing _that_ to her...?

She rolls her eyes at herself, tears forming. It's ridiculous as fuck that she's scared to even come out of her own house. To walk carefree in her own city.

She spent two hours on her treadmill last night. She does it to keep fit; and physically she is. But she feels there are too many emotional walls that make her unfit for Harrison.

Someone nervous about stepping out the front door is not what he needs.

She sniffs, and slightly loosens her grip on him. But that only causes him to tighten his.

...

"You 'k Mama?" Harrison asks between Clarence lodged in his mouth, as she fastens him into his car seat.

Her sorrowful eyes stare through her large overt Jackie O sunglasses to focus on her nephew's impartial stare -like his father while he was slowly sucking her life away.

"Yeah Little Man, I'm fine", her mouth smiles, and she hesitantly pats him on the shoulder, as if she is scared to touch him, to pass on her weakness.

"Dada 'urt you?" he asks, as one would ask for Cheerios.

But this is the second time he has asked her since he stopped Dexter from strangling her to death - and she is sure that is what would have happened. But this isn't why she took him. For him to exposed to such horrors; in fact, the exact opposite.

She sighs, and perches on what's left of Harrison's passenger seat. She removes Clarence out of his mouth, and kisses both his palms before leaning in and resting them on her heart.

"Harrison, I want you to listen to me very carefully, OK?" she enunciates each word slowly.

He nods.

"Your Dada he is..." she turns her head to stare out the opposite back passenger window as she fights to find the right words. "Sometimes he forgets how strong he is and how weak Mama is", she explains, making eye contact with him again.

His eyebrows furrow at her answer.

"But did 'urt you?", his frown intensifies, reminding her even more of Dexter. She blinks her gaze away.

"No", she lies for the third time, despite everything, she doesn't want him growing up hating his father. And his son seems to be the only thing that is making Dexter hold on to whatever sanity he has left. "I've already told you baby, he didn't hurt me... I was just... surprised, and so was he, which is why he ran away".

"Surp'ise, like surp'ise birthday?"

"... kind of", she leans in to kiss the frown lines from his face, "don't think about it", she pleads. But moving back she finds that they are still there. So changes tactics and attacks him with a myriad of tickles.

It doesn't disappoint and she laughs heartedly at his giggles, his body and face contorting with glee, and just like that her mood lightens, and she thinks, that today might be a good day after all

* * *

_08:47_

Deb decides that she is going to sit and wait out the traffic to get to her LT spot, because she is in that kind of mood.

But soon her mind drifts to Dexter, and the cold emotionless look in his dead, withered, brown eyes, as he slowly slipped life from her, and she turns into the nearest spot..

In the lift - alone.

Thank fucking fuck it's Friday, Deb sighs. She decides she is going to do something special with Harrison this weekend, something to put his mind at ease, like a regular three year olds should be. It's still troubling him, what he witnessed on Wednesday night. He is a lot quieter, no matter how many times she says, 'Dada didn't hurt Mama'.

...Maybe she'll drive them to Orlando to see Astor and Cody - but then the bruises

Angel is waiting outside the lift when it's doors open. He stares at her expectantly.

"Good morning", Deb asks warily, and starts walking down the corridor. She raises her eyebrows and pulls a face. He looks worse than her, if that is even possible.

"Good morning?" he mumbles behind her, as if reacquainting himself with that word, and quickens to walk in pace with her.

Deb slows, "...can I help you with something?"

Angel slows with her and shakes his head, and shrugs his lips, like he is confused by her question.

"...OK", she half chuckles, resuming pace to her office, Angel in tow.

"Late night?" she asks, a wave of guilt washing over her when she spots Quinn, and their newest detective to homicide, transferred from Vice, Miller, both napping on their desks with paper work strewn around them. Nothing more important in their worlds than their work and finding justice. It was only a couple of months ago that that was her. Underpaid for all the tireless and sleepless nights, endless hours of desk work and phone calls, life constantly on the line while on the field.

It was a far cry from what her life was becoming. And a part of her longed to return to that simplicity, that excitement.

Angel laughs good heartedly, "more like very early morning".

"Anything?"

Angel lets out a frustrated ghust of breath - no.

"Shit. You would hope that a school, more so parents would know when their child has been missing for two days".

She stops to lean over Quinn.

"Maybe she isn't a child?"

She reaches for the abandoned phone receiver, inches away from his hand, back.

"The uniform a costume?" she toys the ides in her mind before looking up in the direction of hers - well Angel's office. Although neither have moved their stuff in or out. Maybe he is waiting for her to make the first move; to be honest, she is not looking forward to being so far away from her colleagues that she has has come to know and love as her family... well, what's left of them.

"Maybe - Who the fuck is that is my office?" she points.

As long her stuff is in there, it is still her office.

"Lieutenant Winslop, Miami Vice", Angel introduces.

Oh, she squints at the blurred figure.

"...What's he doing in my office?"

Angel proudly smiles and nods at the same time, like he is just about to tell her the cure for cancer.

"Miller. Miller found links between the dead high schooler", she frowns at Angel's impersonality, but then again it's been a late night, "and a few other cases she investigated on while in Vice over trafficking".

Deb frowns, pissed off she is only just hearing about this, but at the same time relieved, because trafficking has nothing to do with Dexter.

"Links how?" She clears her throat, mouth dry, palms sweaty in anticipation.

"At the moment, nothing more than the visual similarities between the victims".

Deb twitches her lips. Hardly a cause of celebration, or for her to put her mind at ease over Dexter.

Angel must notice her dissatisfaction because he adds how it is at least a start.

"It is", she says as assuring as she can. "Do we know anything more about who the vi-"

"No, forensics hasn't come through yet-"

Because its one member down.

"-but should soon...".

She nods and smiles, grateful that Angel hasn't asked her where Dexter is. "Good. Good work, and so...", she motions back to her office, "he is in my office because..."

"With both your permission, we would like for Vice and Homicide to work together. Get this son of a bitch as quick as possible...".

What else can Deb do but nod and agree, "but, that's a decision you could have made, LT", she smiles.

_..._

"Lieut-", Angel starts to address but is cut off.

"Morgan-", Winslop orders, stops, chuckles, holds his hands up in an apology that Deb can see straight through.

"I'm sorry. Force of habit. Lieutenant Morgan", his hands rest on the hips of his belt, while his cool eyes judge her closely, "soon... to be captain of homicide, I hear".

Deb tries to force a smile at the man she used to work under, who takes the opportunity to inspect her, up and down.

"My, my, my, little Debra Morgan", he continues, sweeping a hand through his blonde curls; "rookie cop, eight years later, you've made your way to captain. Harry would be proud. Just shows, it's not what you know, but who".

* * *

_11:42_

Introductions were brief, a team of twelve combined with Vice and Homicide now agglomerated in the main conference room. Although, with very distinct sides. Miller loiters in the middle.

Angel heads the meeting, Deb perches on the edge of the desk positioned on the left side of the room, doing everything to avert the watchful eye of Winslop, perching on the right.

She inspects the team. Aside from said bastard, she recognises only three others from Vice. A Chino-Latina American, Richards; she is around the same age as her and also joined the force around the same time. It looks like she has tried to die her hair blonde, but has ended up an interesting shade of ginger, which isn't all together unpleasant. Richard's was actually one of the undercover cops that worked the trafficking case with her, that lead her to Rudy, homicide ... and Dexter, the true Dexter, and everything that came with that more bitter than sweet package.

Scrap that - where is the sweet in his truth? Only in his facade.

And so Deb begins to drift off to imagine a life still in Vice; where she in none the wiser about her brother's true colours, or hers towards him.

She shakes her head out of its day dream in frustration, and rather annoyingly makes eye contact with Winslop, who is still staring at her, albeit now with a slight frown on his face.

She scowls at him, and resumes her inspection of the rest of the team. Homicide were actually two members short in the team. Dexter, and Masuka called in sick...?

"OK", Angel starts with a sigh, "so forensics still hasn't come through-", he waits for the disgruntled mutters to die down.

"And neither has the victim's school or her parents"' he lets the statement hang in the air before continuing, "so we're attacking this blindly guys. Miller-", he indicates, and she nods, her twists still bouncing slightly after the movement, "is why we are all here, and before I pass her over to you-".

There is a quiet knock on the door, before its opened. Deb indulges for a moment that maybe it's Dexter...

But it isn't.

* * *

_13:07_

"Miss Lee", Deb hesitantly brushes her fingers on the distraught woman's clothed shoulder, blocking out the image of the dead victim slabbed, skin slightly sagged, on the left of her.

The thirty something year old is hyperventilating, gasping for breath.

Tears and black mascara streaming down her well chiseled face.

She shakes her head, a few loose long black hairs stick to her sodden face.

"No", cries with a heavy East Asian accent, gasps, then lets out a laugh of absolute relief.

"It is not her. No my Elsie".

She laughs again, clamping a hand around her mouth.

Deb shakes her head and the blinds shut the image out.

"I sorry", Miss Lee apologises, her voice going really serious. "It is so bad of me. It is someone's child. I just", she cries, "I'm just so happy it is not mine", she grabs Deb and drowns her tears in her shirt.

Shocked by the sudden and odd embrace, Deb slowly loosens, returning the petite woman's affection. She catches sight of a collection of deep black bruises over her shoulder blades through, and is careful not to put pressure on them.

* * *

_14:22_

"Miss Lee", Deb hears Lieutenant Winslop, seated behind her, address the calmed woman sitting in the chair in front of her. "Before we let you go, is there any more information you can think of that will help us finding your daughter?"

Perching on the edge of her desk, with her back to Winslop; Deb is a bit like piggy in the middle; trying not to fuck off at Winslop for carrying on Miss Lee's meeting in her office, sat in _her _chair.

"No, like I say, she just didn't come home on Monday evening. When I call her school on Tuesday, they say she hadn't been in-"

"And you say this is normal".

Miss Lee downcasts her eyes, and nods.

"She hadn't been at school all of the week before either".

No.

"The school hadn't called you because your daughters' unattendance is normal"

Miss Lee nods her head and Deb grits her teeth.

"And you have no idea where your daughter may have been?"

She shakes her head; her palms open helplessly.

"And your daughters' father", he glances back at his hand written statement sheet in front of him, "has gone back to the Netherlands".

Deb turns and shoots Winslop a look, who returns it, just as cooly.

"No, I work from six in the mor-", she goes to repeat information Winslop already knows, sighs, "no", and shamefully averts her eyes to the far back corner of Deb's office.

"And you left it until today to-"

"Miss Lee", Deb pipes in, having enough of listening to Winslop berate this woman. "I think we have everything. Let me show you out".

Deb walks a be-trodden Miss Lee to the lift, and calls it for her.  
They stand in silence.

"You might want to see someone about those bruises on your back", Deb whispers.

The lift arrives, and Miss Lee smiles sympathetically, glancing at the not needed scarf around her neck, and her long sleeve work shirt in this humid Miami weather.

...

Dexter is at the forefront of her mind when she reaches back to her office.

Angry at what he has let her become - not the obvious, but a victim. A victim who she spent countless years in Vice not understanding why these women would just let it happen, let these men get away with beating them, narcotics, trafficking, and other crimes, while they just allowed and observed silently.

But today she has realised, she has become one of those women.

Not only is she unfit for Harrison, but her job.

Her eyes eventually wake up to find the cool eyes of Winslop, watching her carefully. Still sat in her chair; his hands twitch on the edge of her desk.

"Get the fuck out of my chair", she snaps.

He smiles and waltzes over to her, but she refuses to make eye contact.

"She looks a bit like you", he says over the photograph Miss Lee left of her daughter, and lets it drop to the floor.

She hears Winslop close the door behind him.

Instantly, her phone alarm goes off. She digs it out, Harrison's face covers the screen, and in that moment, Deb realises that she will never be rid of Dexter. There will always be something there to remind her.

His son.

* * *

_21:03_

Deb has done her best to make her spare room, which now acts as Harrison's room, as homey as possible. Like how her own mother made hers The double sofa bed, fully pulled out and made with light blue bedding, for a boy. Her desk lamp for a night light; the clothes that she managed to pack in her haste sparsely fill the chest of drawers, and a tan wicker basket is semi full of what toys. His latest artworks from nursery sporadically but proudly presented on the bare white walls.

"Dada come back?" Leaning out of her goodnight kiss, Deb jumps slightly over Harrison's question. Bathed, sweet smelling and ready for bed in only his pull ups, because it is too humid to wear anything else.

"Uhm...", Deb looks into her nephews hopeful eyes, "maybe". She rubs a thumb across his forehead lovingly, happy to see his frown lines from this morning have disappeared after a day at nursery and evening at the beach.

Only a sheet covers his small body, and she tucks it closer to his chin, before ruffling his soft blonde hair, which like his father's does, is starting to curl at then end with its length.

"Your Dada loves you", she leans in to give him a kiss on his forehead, "so much", breathing in his scent.

"'Ou 'ove Dada?"

She pulls away, it's an innocent question, and he seems interested in her answer.

She plants a couple more kisses on his forehead.

"Yes I do", she says truthfully.

* * *

_22:37_

Deb decided to call it a night on the treadmill.

Friday night, and Deb is at home going through paperwork. She never thought she would see the day, but then a three year old is not really an accessory you can take to a bar. Not that anyone was going out either, they all felt pretty shitty about not getting anywhere with this dead high schooler.

With one in front of her; Deb glances at the pile of cardboard boxes she brought back from the office, that she still has to sift through.

She has decided to make the first move, and give Angel his deserved LT office come Monday. Although, she hadn't really unpacked or packed the office with personal affects, so only one of the boxes is actually hers. The rest were La Guerta's paperwork.

She has a small plastic bag to the right of her, filled with evidence to shred, or better, burn. She would just trash all of it, but she is interested to find out what La Guerta has found about her brother, that she is clueless too.

'_Shoot him, shoot him Deb'_

_The gun pointed at her Dexter shakes in her hand._

_'Shoot him like the dog that he is'_

_I CAN'T!_

Her mind is, for the second time this evening, wandering back to Dexter and that evening - when it slips back to the present, to take a better look at the image in front of her

She frowns bringing it closer.

Squinting at the faces, she can't believe she recognises.

Her eyes blink in surprise.

"Fuck!"

She drops the photograph.

"Fuck?"

She picks it up again, only to drop it off again.

"Fuckity fuck fuck fuck", she stands abruptly, and makes way to the door to run, barefoot? And where? She doesn't know.

But can't.

Harrison.

Hesitantly, she picks the photograph up again. There, as clear as day is Laura Moser, Thomas Matthews, Matthew's wife, Doris, her father, a very young Dexter, and a few other faces, now aged that she recognises.

Her father's arm is wrapped around Laura Moser.

A proud protective arm resting on Dexter's shoulder.

**_I don't know where Dexter is? Got any darkly disturbing ideas, of where he would run to, or what he would do to punish himself after he almost killed the most important person in his life? I have a few, but I am open to ideas._**

**_So... Winslop? The photograph? Masuka - ill? Most importantly, where is Dexter?_**

**_Sorry for any typos._**

**_Let me know your thoughts_**


	5. Black Duckling

Black Duckling

It rained all weekend, restricting activities to inside; but it was good to have the air clear and bright again. The mugginess of last week is history, and Miami is brand new and afresh, just like the week.

* * *

Tuesday morning. Second day in new office. The furniture is minimalist for the size of the room. An expanse desk, two chairs, and wall of filing behind it. In the far corner, looking over the plaza, a small love seat and coffee table. There aren't many personal affects, which is to say, none, but I'm thinking of bringing in a few of Harrison's artworks, a couple of photographs.

By surprise, I'm early. My back is to the door as I flick through paper work.

"Sister".

My voice hitches in my throat. My body, anxiously waiting to be in company with him again, to hear the steady hiss of words that is distinct to Dexter's voice escape his beautifully sculptured lips. But now that he is here, all I can feel is...

_Venom_.

Delicious, torturing through my veins.

"Dexter", I turn.

He is smiling at me, _devilishly_.

I narrow my eyes, but at the same time, my smile fights to return his.

Instead I take a seat. I hope appearing impassive and confident, staring him directly in the eyes. My finger pads rub nervously against each other.

Dexter of course clocks this, his smile widens.

"I make you nervous, sister?"

I halt my movements instantly; weaving my fingers together, placing them in a bundle on my lap.

They twitch.

Dexter maintains his crookery stare.

It isn't soon after long though that his smile thins into a pursed line, his eyes glinting warily at me.

He blinks away to inspect the surroundings.

I follow until they are on me again, smiling.

I unconsciously suck in my breath, licking the bottom of my lip as Dexter takes slow, precise steps towards me, halting when the tan mahogany desk becomes an obstacle.

Confused, he looks down and raises his eyebrow at the desk. I can't help the smirk that appears on my lips.

Neither can he.

"I must say, dearest sister. You are a far cry better than where I found you a month ago. Drunk, disorderly, and accusing me of the most obscene things, and yet here you are..."

I finally bite. Leaning over the desk, I place my palms square on her desk. "Here I am, and I feel...fine".

I smile a little, catching Dexter's eyes flick down to my exposed cleavage.

Suddenly, he grabs one of my wrists, and tugs on it, lurching me more forwards over the desk. They cry out, still not fully recovered from their previous assault.

My body's pulsating as he leans over, closer, and whispers in my ear, his tongue catching on my cartilage - I resist the urge to moan.

"Fine about filling a dead woman's shoes?" he whispers.

He turns his head into mine, so I can feel his hot, heavy breath spurt warm gusts on my cheek.

"A woman who died at your hand?"

"Yes", I hiss, turning too; I can make out the green and yellow flecks in his eyes. "For Harrison's sake, yes".

He frowns, almost incredulously at me - I hadn't realised I said it out loud.

Abruptly, he stands erect, not letting up of his grip on me.

My head lolls on my chin as I look up at him expectantly, wondering what he is going to do next.

His pupils have overpowered his irises. And a prickly heat runs against the nape of my neck. Wondering whether he has another one of his needles hidden in his back pocket...?

Without warning, he yanks me so hard, I ghaff and stream over the desk. Before I can make contact with the coarse blood red carpeted floor - fitting - he yanks me upright into a standing position.

So that I am inches away from him.

My eyes train on his bottom lip, it's so much thicker than his top one.

Plump.

Full.

I resist the urge to poke it with my finger.

Rou-

His lips crash down on mine, urgent.

_Oh thank fuck!_

I moan hungrily into his kiss. Allowing him access to my tongue instantly.

His muscle laps enticing, deliberate and forceful strokes across my own; before my lips sucks on his enthusiastically.

I acknowledge his hands which have been groping their way over what curves I have.

One harshly clamps my right nipple through my shirt, while another glides down my stomach and unashamedly reaches underneath my skirt and panties to see how wet I am.

If I didn't crave him so much, I would be embarrassed, but I am anything but, and hastily undo the fly and button on his trousers, releasing him from his boxers.

He is fully erect, but I still give it a few pumps, just to languish in the feel of _him_.

My eyes make contact with his, which are already boring into me.

He captures my lips in another fearsome kiss, one when he pulls apart, I can already feel bruising.

His dull fingernails scrape up my thigh, stopping on my buttox, and pulling me closer to him. His cock, hard, and warm against my pelvis; wetness pools even more; stirring something deep and painful in the hollows of me, bursting to come out.

I need to find my release, _quick_.

And from the pained expression on his face, so does he.

He snatches the crotch of my panties, pulling them down. They slide down my shins easily. I kick them away and he wastes no more time, lifting me up and lowering my gloopy warm wetness onto him.

When nestled in completely, I hear his sigh of relief as a slow releasing warm spurt of liquid explodes inside me; his seed travels up my body, reaching my heart. Feeling him come, makes me too, and it is the most satisfying release I have ever felt.

Short high pitched groans escape my throat, when he raises my buttox up and down him, while we both breathily ride our climaxes out.

He lowers me gently on to the desk. Pulling out, he kneels immediately, leaving me hollow and empty.

I let out an exhausted cry when I feels his lips enclose my lower ones.

I am about to protest, when he yanks me up onto shaky legs, catching our combined come in his mouth.

He slurps hungrily, then stands to deposit it for me to taste.

The taste is-

Deb wakes up wet, all over. Heart protruding vigorously through her chest. She is twisted in her sheets, a foul taste in her mouth, until she realises _why_.

She contemplates the tangy but sweet, cumbersome flavour, and bashfully decides that she likes it.

Her eyes warily find her bedside clock. 06:17. Thirteen more minutes... Logically, she may as well just get up. But she finds her head resting back on the pillow to revisit her dream.

* * *

_09:36_

The lift opens on the second level, and Deb hurries down the corridor, her nude heels echoing loudly against the floors.

She is late.

The extra thirteen minutes revisiting her dream, may have turned into half an hour, and now her mind is all skiddish.

She walks no more than ten steps before she realises she has forgotten her cell.

"Jesus fuck", she mumbles, turning back.

She is not comfortable not having it on her. Harrison might need her.

"Deb?"

Angel.

"Yep", Deb whips her head around briefly towards the voice. His hand rests his weight against the T junction of the bull ring and second floor corridor. "Forgot my phone. I'm coming".

_She frowns, a solid pale blue buttoned down shirt...? _

_No hat? _

Becoming LT changes a man. At least his dress code.

She thinks she prefers the Hawaiian shirts though, there is something comforting abo-

" - Fuck", she curses.

Lost rambling to herself, she has walked straight into a sturdy form, and by what momentarily brushes against her, male.

Stepping back, "sorry, I wasn't lo-", she starts to apologise, looking up to the face of the figure.

Winslop.

_Oh_.

She unconsciously narrows her eyes on him.

He smiles, inching round her.

"I've stained you", he points to her chest.

She hears his waltzing footsteps behind her, humming in tune.

Annoyed with herself, she resumes her ascent to the lift, only to be stopped in half a step by another form.

Again, male.

"My fucking Christ-"

"Whoa-"

Quinn.

His hands grip her, pushing her away from him.

His grip is a bit too comforting for her liking.

"Quinn", she shrugs out of his embrace. "Sorry", she puts her hands up and apologises, before hastily making her way to the lift - eyes up this time.

It is already on its way.

"You kno-", she jumps at Quinn's voice so close.

"Sorry. We have a meeting like now?"

"I know. I forgot my cell in my office, and now I have to get a fucking lift to get there", she complains. "Angel's there though, and _Winslop_... Two LT's, you don't really need me".

"Hey", he places a hand on her shoulder, she surprises herself when she leans into it. "Your input is always valuable".

Deb smiles, appreciating the compliment.

She meets his sincere gaze, "thanks Joey".

His hand squeezes, "are you OK? Did Winslop say something...?"

The lift arrives.

"I'm fine", she smiles, before rushing in, pressing her floor. She hears his abandoned hand slap against the thigh of his jeans.

"OK, well I guess I-", he gets cut off by the closing doors.

The lift starts its ascent.

"Peachy fucking fine", she mumbles to herself, rolling her neck to relieve some stress.

"Liar".

Deb chills mid-jumping in surprise.

Dexter.

She rushes for the alarm bell.

"No, no need to raise the alarm", he says steadily.

She is breathing so heavily that she momentarily has to stop so she is able to hear.

She does not hear the rustling of him coming any closer. But also does not trust him to let out a sigh of relief just yet.

She presses the emergency stop and it does with a jolt.

"Dexter".

Hearing his voice, being in his presence again is not as monumentous as she thought it would be. More than anything, she just feels relief.

"I'm not, I'm not, here, here to, to err"

"I'm not here to, I", he tries and fails again.

She breathes deeply, and turns to face him. Square in the eyes, and she can see it visibly relaxes him.

He is thinner.

His burnt orange and earth brown garments hang where they once clinged to his body.

His cheeks more defined, angular.

His forehead, eyes, more prominent, making his stare more intent.

His lips however are still...

Plump.

She shakes her mind away from where it is going.

_Focus_.

He takes a deep long breath through his nose, and out his mouth.

His hair lighter and longer.

"I'm here because you asked me to... be here", he explains.

A knife could cut through the silence.

She spies her phone in his closed fist.

He must follow her eyes because he moves to pass it to her.

"Don't fucking come anywhere near me", she puts up her hands, "or I swear, I will scream the God damn building down".

He takes a large step back so he bumps into the lift wall clumsily. When he composes himself, he holds as little of the cell as possible so that when _she_ moves to exchange, there is no contact.

"That was four days ago I called you-", she sighs disappointed, taking her cell.

"I know, I'm sorry, I...", his explanation trails off.

Silence again.

Deb's skin is prickling again. Will they ever be able to stand in the same room again alone and not feel uneasy over the other.

More importantly, does she want to?

"...Look", she lets out a pissed off sigh, "can we talk later. I'm late for a meeting-".

"The missing girl case-

She nods, a hand raises to massage the bridge of her nose. "We're still as shitless as to what happened as we were day one. Forensics hasn't come through. Masuka has been ill since Friday-".

"Masuka. Ill?"

"I know. What the fuck?" she snorts dismally, her hand abandons her forehead and slaps against her dark blue pencil skirt. "The media is serving us for dinner in this case, and were two forensics dow-"

"Well I'm back now... If that's OK with you...?"

"...And what would you do if it wasn't?"

"See, I even brought doughnuts", he indicates to the pink boxes at his feet.

Her nostrils flare at the way he ignores her question, but smiles despite herself.

"Well, lets not be any later".

* * *

_09:47_

"Before we go in", Deb stops them just outside the meeting room, which by the looks of it, is already in full swing. "Is there anything I should know about... this case...?", she asks, hating herself for doing so.

"...What do you mean?"

She shudders, not realising how close behind he is. He must realise why, as she can hear him take a step back. Relaxing, she raises her gaze to him.

His hair is not as blonde as the lights of the lift made it out to be. Copper, tinting strawberry blonde at the end. The curls edge the nape of his neck, just like Harrison's.

His pupils are minute, the honey hue, with green and yellow flecks bore into her, filled with uncertainty, and maybe apprehension.

"The dead high schooler... That day at the beach, you took me to where she was killed... I felt that maybe you were..., fuck, I don't know...", she blinks up to the heavens, tears threatening.

"Deb", he doesn't physically touch her but his voice does, straight to her heart, and she makes eye contact with him again.

Their shape has changed, betrodden. Reminding her of Miss Lee and her daughter they still have not found.

"I swear, I have nothing to do with this case, and...", he trails off, that is all he can promise.

She nods, reaching the meeting room door knob.

"Deb", he stops her.

Again, his voice.

"Yeah?" she says shakily, not turning to face him.

"You know you have a coffee splodge on your shirt".

She frowns. Those were the last words she expected coming out his mouth.

"Yeah, uhm. I have a spare in my office. Uhm, go in. Tell them I'm coming".

* * *

_10:17_

The bulletin board in the meeting room looks pretty much the same in terms of the murdered high schooler, affectionately renamed, operation, 'Lost Duckling'. Three other images dot around of trafficked teenage girls from the Miami area. Two resemble Duckling, with the same dark brown hair and eyes; the other blonde and green eyed. They all appear the same age as Duckling too, but until the pathologist's report comes in, it is all conjecture. Clear differences, whereas Duckling supposedly went to private school, the others are in public school, from the bottom of the opposite social demographic.

Chanelle Armstrong, aged 16, from Miami, FL; case reported two years ago.

Ryla Davis, aged 19, Miami, FL; case reported four years ago.

Chantelle Riaz, aged 14, Miami, FL; case reported one year ago.

Miller is up front, explaining these three young women in more detail and how they link to their murdered Duckling. Deb semi listens to what is being said, while the rest of her concentration is taken up by averting her eyes when Dexter catches her staring at him, and contemplating how what happened in the lift, and what is happening now, is not what she imagined.

Can she really just let him waltz back into his old life after what he did to her...?

"...Deb?"

Angel.

Deb snaps out of her reverie to find all eyes are on her.

_?_

All, including him - again, have caught her staring at Dexter.

"Yes?" shamefully moving her attention to Angel.

He nods at Miller.

"How should we proceed from here captain?" Miller repeats her question.

"Uhm ..."

Fuck.

Compose.

"Uhm..." Deb collects her head, "I think the most important thing is ID-ing this victim. Keep on the pathologists case. Dexter", she sighs, looking in his direction, but not at him. "I need you to look through the material Masuka collected, see if it brings anything. Miller", she hurries on, "pick two other agents, and see about bringing those traffik victims in for further questioning. Everyone else, resume your positions in the field and on the phones. We need to catch this fucker".

After the meeting is over, Deb rushes out. She sinks into her office, collapsing against the door as she closes it.

She has wanted to do that since she arrived this morning.

Maybe her office on the fourth floor is not so ba-

She jumps at the loud knock against the frosted glass screen.

"Deb".

Dexter.

"...Yep", she answers.

There is silence.

"You said you wanted to talk later. Is this later...?"

She frowns, wondering how he knew this was her office.

But then - this is Dexter.

"Uhm, Deb?"

"No it isn't".

* * *

_12:45_

Deb frowns over her speech she is proof reading. She has let her plat out of its bun, finding twiddling the ends is both comforting and motivating.

There is a knock on her office door.

"It's open", she calls.

They shuffle in wordlessly.

She looks up.

Dexter. Sandwich.

Fuck, she had forgotten that he was here. That he was _here_ here, back working in her building.

"I uh, me and the guys went to get some lunch-".

The guys, she almost snorts at the normalcy of it. It was not even a week ago that he had her pinned to the wall, threatening her. That he was slowly slipping life away from her while his son watched.

"- and I thought you might be hungry", he holds up the sandwich like its a baton in a race.

Her eyes stare at it. Her stomach growls hungrily over it.

"It's uh, three kinds of meatballs, and its good meat. I got it from tha-"

"Actually, I have gone vegetarian".

Lies.

"Oh...", he frowns in displeasment. "Well I guess I'll go back to work...", quietly, waiting for her to respond.

She is silent.

He tries again. "We're just about to go to the morgue, see if I can look at the body, get a better idea of what happened. The pictures Masuka took helped. Might, also be good to, go revisit, the crime scene too. If it's, still closed off...?"

"Good", she says standing up, gathering papers. Dexter does not take the hint and looks up after a minute and catches him staring at her.

Deb flicks her attention back to the papers on her desk. "I uh, I have a press meeting in ten minutes. Followed by a conference. One of the _perks_ of the promotion", she says sarcastically. "The topic of discussion is violence against women. Would you believe it? I'm sure the irony is not only wasted on me". She raises an eyebrow at him, to find him still staring, in some kind of trance, assumingly not having listened to a word she has said. "I'll grab some food there...", trailing off.

Deb waits in their silence. The papers flap.

He is not really staring at her per se, which is, not her face.

She follows his eye line.

Her breasts...?

"Dexter", after a minute.

"Hmm?" his eyebrows raise but his focus doesn't. "I'm sorry", walking carefully closer to her.

He makes eye contact with her to let her know that she can trust him.

But she cannot.

She does not say or move, not because she does not want to but because she is rooted to the spot in apprehension, dare she say it, fear. He must see that she is trembling, but still he advances closer.

There is now a metre between them, and his hand reaches towards her neck.

She wobbles, her eyes watering.

"I'm not going to hurt you".

She feels the heat of his hand on her neck.

She blubbers.

"Shh".

Whether it was meant to be soothing, it comes out authoritative and makes Deb tremble even more.

His hand deftly undoes the knot of her silver scarf. He pulls it slowly off her nape and allows it to flutter to the floor.

The movement, making her nipples harden.

His hand stays suspended in her peripheral. The bruises on her wrists have gone, but there is still visible markings on her neck and hip bone.

Her eyes shakily find his.

Pain.

Pain, pain and more pain.

He twitches.

"I-", he starts, but then runs out. Her sandwich falling on the floor, but the stains will go unnoticed.

* * *

_14:07_

Deb watches her long corn yellow ribbed hair sleekly passes through Dexter's grip.

"He fists the ends just as she is about to make contact with the sand".

"She screams out"

"She is pulled back up by her hair before letting go".

Dexter arches his arm back.

"She again screams in unrequited fear; the harsh movement too sudden for her too break her fall".

"She makes contact with the ground".

Dexter kneels beside the still body.

"A blunt force trauma to the head. It's unclear by what. A stray rock, it could have just been a conch. But because of the drop, it knocked her out cold".

Dexter flips the body over.

"Blood here and here", Angel indicates on the crimes scene photographs.

"The assailant probably thought she was dead, so threw her in the ocean to discard her body", Dexter explains standing, helping Vice Agent O'Rourke up too.

All eyes in the meeting room are on him, especially his sisters. He shrugs helplessly at her.

Deb seems caught in a daze which she snaps out of as soon as she realises everyone has changed their focus to her. She clears her throat.

"Thank-you Dexter, for that visual representation of your findings. I think I speak for all when I see, it looked very... accurate", saying the last few words into the sleeves of papers in her hand. It was true, but only she fears its _true_ actuality.

"And to you Agent O'Rourke..."

O'Rourke smiles over her compliment.

"Great acting".

O'Rourke's face falls.

Deb clears her throat again before standing and making her way to the bulletin board, ignoring the other profiles and squints at the shots of their dead Duckling. She does not really care if she has offended O'Rourke. She is too blonde and blue eyed for her liking...a bit too close to Dexter.

"Are we any closer to determining age?" she asks no one in particular.

Everyone is silent for a moment. "No", Angel. "They're short staffed. They said hopefully tomorrow morning".

Deb nods, "... Well that's ... that's...", she turns back to face the other occupants in the room, "a bunch of shit smelling roses", she smiles fed up.

"We were successful in getting, Ryla Davis-", Miller starts.

Deb holds up her hand stopping her. "But what about her", she indicates with her thumb. "Our victim who has no name and no voice to tell her story. Our victim, who has been dead almost a week now and we are no clearer finding out who she is. I mean", she laughs, "we don't even know for sure whether she is a child or an adult".

She shuffles the papers in her hand irritably, they rustle loudly against her scarf.

"We're pissing in the wind guys until we get that report. We might as well all fucking go home".

Everyone is silent.

As it grows, Deb feels even more guiltier for her outburst.

Her cheeks start to flame, and she suddenly acknowledges how tired she is and her mother fucker of a headache, pounding against her skull.

"Sorry guys", closing her eyes, she rests a hand on a forehead. "I've-", she opens them, her hand moving to play with the cloth knot around her neck. She wonders if Dexter is watching her movements...

He is.

Like a hawk.

She stops. "I have to go. Good work", she says to the room. Her eyes fall on Dexter on the way out.

"Great pep talk _Captain_", Winslop snides, "very, _encouraging_".

* * *

The room is relatively dim as most of the blinds have been shut. Deb's thumb rims the opened chilled Sam Adams in her grasp; she has not taken a sip though yet. Harrison plays with a handful of disjointed toys in her peripheral.

She loves her nephew, but fuck could she really use this beer, and the other five cool in the fridge.

Still dressed for work, she glances at the time on her wrist watch, 16:45, another four hours before he goes to sleep.

Her legs bounce irritably, as she stares intently at Harrison's movements. Although what he is saying or doing she couldn't say.

Her headache has not budged, even though she has already taken two headache pills. She has to wait an hour and forty five before she can take another. The packet lays half open and ready on the coffee table.

"Mama, no beach?" Harrison asks through the fingers stuck nervously in his mouth; Clarence suspended in the air.

Deb shakes her head.

The sun's rays will definitely not help her headache.

Neither will beer though.

She places the cap on it and crawls over to Harrison, removing his fingers from his mouth before kissing them. Then she joins what ever game he is playing.

* * *

Deb is woken up by the insistent knocking on her front door.

Bleary eyed, it takes her while to take in her surroundings.

She and Harrison fell asleep on the wooden floor, his toys scatter around them; one even beneath her shoulder blades.

Picking them both up, Deb places the slumbering Harrison on the sofa, Clarence tucked safely under his chin. He snores softly, un-disturbed. She sweeps the stray hairs off his face before placing a kiss on his forehead.

Harrison had the softness of Deb's body to sleep on. But Deb - fuck that crink in her neck is going to stay with her for a while.

She tries to relieve some tension, but instead a pang shoots all the way down her spine. She whimpers. When is it ever a good idea to fall asleep on the floor?

She makes her way to the freezer for an ice pack.

The knocking starts again.

Remembering that is why she got up in the first place, she rests the ice pack on the counter and makes her way to the front door.

She checks her wrist watch, 04:53, what the fuck?!

Dexter.

But then really, who else did she think it would be.

She steps back from the peep hole, retreating back to the sofa.

"Deb".

She stops short of his voice sounding through the door.

"I do have a key".

Fuck he does.

She worries her lip between her teeth, while she hears him open the lock...

While he opens the door wide...

While he closes it quietly behind him...

He turns to face her, bunging the keys back in his pocket.

His eyes narrow on her.

Her voice and temperature hitch over sudden paralysis.

He walks towards her and she closes her eyes, tight.

His hands, hot and slightly clammy enclose her face.

They slink down to her neck...

Her shoulders.

She whimpers.

"Shh", he orders.

Lower to her hands and hips...

Her legs down to her toes...

They slink back up again.

Resting hot and heavy on her cheeks.

Her eyes are still shut, her heart pounding, trembling in fear.

But her betraying nipples and sex ache painfully for him.

One of his hands move to hold one of hers. He holds it so delicate that you could almost forget the strength and evilness that he has inside him.

The other pulls the end of her plat; she can feel the hairs play through his fingers.

He leans in close to her face, so close that she thinks he might kiss her.

Again, her body both rejoices and repels the idea. A wire knot clenches deliciously in her lower stomach.

"Trust me again", he implores.

There is a moment and then she feels a ghust of air as he walks past her. She opens her eyes to find that he is not by her side but by Harrison's, inhaling his scent.

Like an animal.

She relaxes, feeling both flustered and assaulted. A wave of nausea washes over her and she rushes to the bathroom.

There is a knock on the door five minutes later. The handle tur-

"No. Don't come in", she asks weakly. "I'm coming out".

She rises from the toilet basin and flushes it, washing her mouth out before she exits.

Dexter is waiting for her in the middle of the room.

Her eyes look for Harrison and relaxes when she finds him still asleep on the sofa.

Feeling better and more confident after up chucking the contents of her stomach; she moves to retrieve her ice pack before making her way to the sofa.

"Deb?"

She props up a cushion on the arm rest.

"You're not yourself... maybe you should take a day off?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Was that a hint of careness I detected in your voice?" she asks solemnly, scooping Harrison back in her arms and laying them both down on the couch. She places the ice pack behind her neck, and sighs out in relief.

She closes her eyes. It is another minute until Dexter speaks again.

"I can take Harrison to pre-school?" he offers.

She peeks an eye open to find him watching her and Harrison closely, with the same hint of confusion in his face when he heard his son call her, 'mama'.

"No", she says shortly. Closing her eye and wrapping her arms more tightly around the toddler for emphasis.

She still stands by the reason she took him.

Dexter is a plague.

The kind that seems harmless and sweet at first, until it completely consumes you, do you realise his wrath. The power he has over you, and then it's too late. And selfish as it may be, she knows that as long as she has his son close, Dexter will not hurt her.

"Deb", she hears him whisper about two minutes later. His voice laced with pain. "I want you to be able to trust me again. To go back to how we were".

_How we were when?_ Deb wonders.

Before she took Harrison?

Before what they did in January...?

Maria.

Before she became a killer.

Before she realised her love for him.

Doomsday.

Before she found out he was a serial killer?

Before Harrison?

Homicide.

Just how many moves back...?

Moves further than either can go.

_**So...?**_

**_There are still seven chapters to come - so no it won't be finished by the 30th. True to Dexter style, everything will happen in the last couple of chapters, so until then read inbetween lines and assume everything. _**

_**Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review - they are motivating. Until next update!**_


	6. White Swan

_**So, I wasn't going to, because I hate having to find out what is happening next, but I watched the new episode on last Sunday, and without giving any spoilers away, I think it was as expected, if not a bit nail biting in some parts. And Harrison's vocab has imensely improved!**_

_**oh and the spelling and typos are going to be pretty obismal - much like the spelling of that word, if it even is real word. But it's late and I wanted to make sure I got it done, as I will have no writing time until next week **_

_**Anyway:**_

_**Read between the lines and assume everything.**_

_Continued from last chapter..._

White Swan

Deb awakes an hour and half later when she hears her alarm in her room go off.

06:30

The ringing suddenly stops.

She frowns...

_Dexter_.

He is still here.

Her nostrils wake up and they fill with the smell of breakfast.

Fried eggs and meat.

Her stomach growls. She fed Harrison last night, but did she eat?

The toddler is still asleep, so she leaves him on the sofa. Her neck and head still ache like a mother fucker.

She finds Dexter at the stove. His back is to her.

"Are you going to take Harrison away from me?" she asks more timidly then she would like.

He stills, before resuming his cooking.

"Dexter?" she pushes.

He turns off the gas, before turning to face her. Resting his weight against the counter, he takes a sip of freshly squeezed blood red orange juice. He offers some to her.

She shakes her head, no; folding her arms, she wants an answer.

He realises this. His eyes glint at her in annoyance, before he drains the remainder of the juice. He rests the glass back on the counter, letting out a loud, satisfied, 'ah'.

"He belongs with someone who loves him", he explains, mimicking Deb's arm cross.

It's a slap in her face.

"I do fucking love him", she erupts, arms flying. "That's why I took him the fuck away from you".

He frowns to the side.

"He is my son".

"I don't trust you".

"And you are any better for him?" he brings his attention back to her. "You're hardly _mother _material", he insults. Then suddenly his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. "I could ruin you", he hisses, leaning ever so slightly forward, his wrists clenching.

Deb's neck heats up; Dexter's imprints burning.

"We have been through this already", she says calmly, albiet her body shaking. "So could I, then where would Harrison be?"

He frowns to the same side again, as is contemplating his possible actions with a dark passenger. "I could stop you", his voice sounding like a child. "Before you had the chance".

Her voice hitches. "You would kill me, Dexter?"

His frown intensifies.

"Leave my body at the bottom of the ocean like the rest of your kills".

"Add my blood to your trophy slides?" her voice getting stronger. "So that when Harrison is older and has turned out just like you, you can say, 'this is your Aunt Deb, do you remember you called her, 'mama'?"

He is silent.

"Rita has already been taken from him. Don't take me".

Dexter remains silent for a long time. "If I could make you trust m-", he asks, bringing his chidlike frown and confused gaze to her.

She shakes her head.

"Will you atleast try...", he asks again, stepping closer towards her.

Her nausea returns and her body shakes more evidently, despite her mind feeling relatively steady and in control.

He stops.

"Fuck Dexter. Look!", she indicates to her shaking hands, "I'm a fucking mess. I hate-"

"You have to trust me", he hisses stepping closer again. "It's making you ill".

"I don't think I can", she says through trembles, her eyes watering.

"I'm not going to hurt you", he stops inches away from her.

But all Deb feels is ice cold. "But that's just it. You have. In more ways then I ever knew possible", she cries, waiting a few moments to compose herself before she speaks again. "I can't – I just can't anymore", she admits deflated, excusing herself to the bathroom.

* * *

_06:56_

Deb remerges into the kitchen, betrodden, but showered and dressed in a clean work outfit. She ignores the way Dexter's eyes trail over her body and the way her body reacts _appreciatively_ to this attention.

"Mama. Mine dada ma'e bre'f'st", Harrison announces excitedly when he sees her.

She nods at the little boy perched on his fathers lap. He holds his plate of food up proudly, almost dropping it. She attempts a smile, but it doesn't last, as another wave of nausea ripples through her. Her eyes find him, carefully watching the disgusted frown on his face over witnessing his son, again, calling her by that name. His frown finds her, and he blinks it away.

"He has no high chair?" he complains.

She nods, making her way to the living room.

He follows.

She sighs. "Have you been back to your apartment, Dexter?"

"Yes", he states confused over her question, "I was there all last night".

"And did you see a high chair in your kitchen?"

"Yes", still not catching on.

"Well then it couldn't be here, could it", she mutters.

"Well, how do you feed him?" he asks astounded.

"Pretty much the same way you are", she indicates to the toddler in one hand and his bowl in the other.

"That's not really good for his development"

"Neither is witnissing his father strangling his mama", she snaps.

He sucks in his breath and she glances over his reaction. Was there some kind of agreement that they would only talk about it implicitly...?

He is silent, while her hands fumble over the remote.

"I wouldn't turn that on it I were you", he grumbles, leaving the room.

* * *

_09:12_

'_It seems not only Miami's citizens are getting restless by the police's lack of progression on the __still__ unidentified dead high schooler that was washed ashore last week Wednesday. But their own Captain has been quoted for calling her staff's police work like, 'pissing in the wind'. Captain Morgan, who we all know as rather brash, and definitely colouful in her speech, apparently said this at a case meeting last week'._

'_Well, Todd, as one who has pissed in the wind before, I know how me-"_

Matthews turns off the Fox news channel, and Deb lets out a deep sigh, gearing herself up.

They are sat in his office, which is now only down the hall from her. She was called in as soon as she arrived.

"Now Morgan, why I cal-"

"Before you say anthing Sir", Deb cuts off, "can I first apolo-"

"Apologise", Matthew laughs.

Deb frowns confused.

"I didn't call you in to reprimand you over the news report. Your punch, and vivaciousness is what got you here, Debra", he clears his throat.

And Deb nods, relieved.

"Why I called you here, is because obviously someone on your team has got it in for you. And while this is not abnormal", he straightens his tie knowingly,"the higher up the ladder you go, the more viscious and apparent the attacks", he chuckles... fondly...?

"This is the beginning, Morgan", he continues. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer", he smiles standing up and holding out his hand.

Deb scrambles up quickly to accept his shake.

"Th-thank-you, Sir".

"And remember what I said – anything, and you come straight to me".

* * *

_09:37_

"Deb", Dexter pokes his head through her office door – without knocking.

Deb is at her desk, working on her press speech for later. "Dexter", she says through gritted teeth.

"The meeting downstairs. Everyone's waiting for you".

"Is that because they offered, or because you threatened to turn them into blood slides if they didn't", she mutters glumly.

"No", he states confused. "I just asked...?" he asks, not knowing whether thats the answer she wants to hear.

"Just let them get on with it without me. I am sure they would prefer it insult free anyway", she sighs, crossing out a huge part of her statement.

Dexter drums his fingers against the door. "Stay up here if you like, but don't cower away. With power comes enemies".

She frowns at his words, removing her attention from her speech to him. "That's basically what Matthew's told me, just thirty minutes ago".

"Well I guess he would know". He waits, and then moves to leave.

"Wait Dex", she stops him, pushing her speech away. "I, I'm coming with you".

* * *

_18:22_

As it was, everyone seemed fine by her presence in the meeting room. Apart from Winslop, whose face soured when she entered, but then she is certain that he is her enemy she needs to keep close. She pursed her lips when Angel announced that they still had no pathologist report; but then he requoted her, 'bunch of shit smelling roses'; making everyone including herself laugh, and lightening the mood instantly.

Angel.

She even started contributing more. Her eyes casted on Dexter, his stern expression as he listened intently to whoever was speaking; the way his eyebrows furrowes, his lips slightly pursed. She was glad he had came and got her. That he had made everyone wait. This is after all where she wants to be; why she joined Miami Metro. His eyes caught hers and she looked away. He knows her so well. And she could not deny the sense of confidence that despite everything, he still installs in her. If only that were true for when they were alone.

The rest of day passes fluidly; Deb encites a few laughs at her press conference; paper work; and before she knows it, its time to pick Harrison up.

Her headache has loosened so she decides to pack peanut butter and jelly sandwichs and have her and Harrison spend the rest of the day at the beach. When they get bored of the sand and the sea, they sit and make shapes from the clouds until the sun sets when Harrison shows off his recently learned colours vocabulary.

It's dark when they return.

"And what colour are your eyes?"

"Sky!" Harrison announces enthusiatically, as Deb carries him, the bucket and spade, and the left over crusts of their dinner in a tuperware, up the porch steps.

"And your hair?"

"'ello'"

"Well done"

"And 'ou 'air an' eye b'ak"

Wrong, but she is impressed as it is. "Well done!" she places several kisses on his cheek, "I am so proud of you. Your such a sm-"

Dexter sits waiting for them on the porch swing, his form poorly illuminated by the solar panel led fairy lights. But she knows that it is him. That coldness and apprehension that she had not felt for the better part of the day, slowly creeps back through her bones.

"DA-DA!" Harrison screams, gigiling, and squirming out of Deb's grip.

Dexter stands. "I saw you down at the beach, but didn't want to intrude. So I have just been watching you from here".

_Because that's not creepy_. Harrison continues moving in her arms, so she places him on the ground and watches him toddle towards Dexter. She then moves to go inside to allow Dexter the same privacy, and is surprised when she finds the front door still locked.

Unlocking it, she places the items down on the kitchen island and heads for the shower.

She is peeling off her black surf shirt when the bathroom door bangs open. She jumps, watching Harrison hurry in, and start taking off his blue lycra swimming trunks. He is fine with the first leg, but trips over the second. She catches him, laughing.

"Slow down, Little Man", she chuckles, peeling the garment off, sand hitting the floor as she does.

As soon as they are off, Harrison wiggles out of her hold, running off back out of the room. She chucks the clothing into the bath, "Harrison, come on, you'll get sa-", she stops turning to find Dexter staring at her from outside the bathroom door. His son, pulling his arm in vain, trying to make him come further into the room.

"Dada, 'ath tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime", Harrison protests, pulling so hard he is going red in the face.

Both adults would find it amusing if they both were not so busy trying to figure the other out.

After what seems like forever, staring at each other in a stalemate. Dexter takes a step in, and Deb's heart rate steps up a beat; her skin going goose pimply. Harrison lets go of his father's arm and runs to attempt scrambling into the bath.

"Can I?" Dexter asks, moving closer towards Deb.

She half nods, because she is only half certain she is OK with it.

Never loosing eye contact, his hands collect the hem of her shirt, and he raises it over her head. Just like Harrison's grunts as he tries to get into the bath, the falling sand as Dexter tosses it on the floor is lost in their combined white noise. His hands skirt over his bruises on her neck. His eyes quickly trail down the rest of her front, until they rest on his rouge bruise on her hip. His fingers dance over that too. The feeling goes straight to the apex of Deb's thighs and she fliches.

"Sorry", he whispers, moving away, "I'll wai-"

He is stopped by the cries of Harrison, falling head first into the bath.

* * *

"Harrison's asleep", Dexter announces walking into the space between the living room and kitchen.

Deb nods, momentarily lifting her head from the papers in front of her. The last leg of Maria's filing.

Head down, she listens to him clear the remenants of his and Harrison's second dinner.

"Right I'm off", he states, hand resting on the front door handle. He catches her mid relieveing some stress from her still tight neck and back muscles. He lingers by the door, in contemplation. "Your neck still bothering you?"

"Yeah", she laughs, "I was the fool who fell asleep on the floor", arching her back; stilling instantly when she feels Dexter's hands back on her neck. They stay there for a moment before they pad their way down to her shoulder blades, in firm circular motions. His touch is gloriously un-nereving as he works her muscles into mush. The unsteady anticipation and dread over his proximity is still close by, but only makes that painful longing in the pit of her stomach, that much sweeter. Delerious sweet torturing pain.

His hands move back up and along her shoulder blades, then back to the cords of her neck.

She lifts up her knees, and burys her face into them.

It's so relaxing that she doesn't object when a hand creeps under the back of her night shirt, and works its magic up her spine.

His fingers have a roughness and courness to them, almost as if she could feel evey line that made up his finger print; she wallows in the way it feels against her smooth, soft skin.

He lifts the back of her shirt and rests it over her head, so it is almost like a hood.

Her bare back is to him.

He works his thumbs up and down her spine from her short line to the top of her neck; his fingers nails dig deliciously into her sides.

"Is this OK?" he asks.

She nods furiously into her knees.

His fingers come together and reach that spot between her shoulder blades and she lets out a short moan.

His fingers still.

And she lets out another moan in protest.

She moves her head to the side, "why did you stop?"

He removes his hands quickly, getting up and hurrying to the door.

"Dexter?" she asks confused, pulling the back of her t-shirt down.

"I'm sorry, that was really insensitive of me", he panics, "I, I should go", giving her a final confused look before fumbling with the door handle and bolting out into the night.

* * *

Deb succesfully managed to train her eyes anywhere but at Dexter all through the morning team meeting. She still didnt know why he bolted; she still couldn't believe she was allowing him to freely touch her again.

Dexter speaks, and she has no choice but to look at – or atleast in his direction.

"Why throw her so close to the shore?" he asks, with skepticism, as if still figuring out his train of thought.

"What do you mean?" Winslop asks.

Dexter blinks, registering the other bodies in the room again. He chuckles, "I don't know", he shakes his head as if throwing away I stupid thought, "spoke out loud", he raises his hands in apology.

But Deb knows better.

The team, slowly infiltrates out the meeting room; all disheartened over their lack of progress with the case.

Dexter eyes narrow on Winslop as he waltzes his way over to Deb.

"Captain Debra Morgan"

Her own eyes narrow, waiting for him to speak first.

Winslop produces her a photograph.

Dexter loiters in the background, both ears straining to hear the conversation.

"What's this?" Deb asks taking the picture. Intake of breath as she recognises the face, "Elizabeth Van Haugh". She can't help the smile that crosses her face, even if it is illicited by Winslop.

She looks up and out of the corner of her eye, catches Dexter's intent stare, his nostrils flared.

"I dispearsed her image around. This response from New York City came this morning. It's her isnt it?".

Deb nods smugly; guilty for the hostility she has shown him.

"You better let Miss Lee know we found her daughter".

"Well I was going to leave that with you. I was a bit", he shrugs, "short with her the last time we spoke... it's just, these kinds of cases really get to me".

Deb rests her hand on his shoulder, "this is your victor".

He nods sheepily, before exiting the room.

Deb smiles down at the image in her hand. She looks older than the photograph Miss Lee provided. But behind the makecup, the low cut red dress, her promiscuous smile, you can tell that it is her. She wonders what her story is.

"Whose that?" Dexter asks, he sets a more than comfortable distance between them, and is peering at the photograph.

A flash of panic waves through, but then its gone.

"Elizabeth Van Haugh", Deb says not looking up, "her mother announced her missing, a couple of days after the highschooler case. She feared it was her".

"She looks like you", he observes.

Deb frowns not convinced, passing the picture over to Dexter. His finger nails clip it between their grip as he takes it off her. She watches him study the photograph.

His eyebrows furrow; his mind breaking the image down.

"Aside from the obvious, brown hair, brown eyes...

...with a circle of green, and an inner circle of yellow.

You can see it here because of the cameras flash.

But up close...

In the light...

At the beach, you can see a similar pattern with your eyes".

He frowns.

"Apart from your green is a darker sage".

His finger traces the hollow of her eye.

"Similar shape eyes...

Although hers more slanted".

They move to her cheeks.

"Prominent cheek bones"

To her lips.

"Different lips.

Yours are more carved"

Carved?

She didn't know what that meant but it was if he was describing her as a masterpiece, and he the artist that painted each line with such precision. She lets out a steady breath; her apex burning with a hot sticky anticipation.

"So", she clears her throat, "what was it you were saying, earlier, about, uhm", she tries to collect her thoughts.

He frowns, blinking out of his reverie, turning his attention from the photograph to her.

"Uhm, what, you were saying", she clears her throat again, "about the victim being thrown too close to the shore".

"I think his kill was interrupted ".

"What do you mean?"

"The victims body was found too close to the sure for it to have been deliberate, I mean logically-"

"-you would dump the body in the middle of the oceon", she finishes, smiling glumly.

He fixes his eyes on her. "Yes".

"Maybe it washed ashore"

"I checked Masuka's report, rigor mortis showed the victim definitely died between the hours of 22:00 – 05:00, that day. No amount of current would have washed her up that quickly".

"Maybe the killer wanted the victims body to be found?"

Dexter shrugs unconvinced, turning up his bottom lip.

Deb's eyes focus on it.

Plump.

"Maybe. Although, normally a killer would leave clues-"

"So maybe the kill was interrupted", she finishes again.

She blinks away from his lips and raises her eyebrow while she assesses what to do.

She really should not second guess him, _he is the expert_.

"...You really think so?"

Dexter shrugs again. "It is a possibility. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Miller's suspicions are correct. Maybe Jane Doe was actually", he jabs the photograph in his hand, "just another girl, really in the wrong place at the wrong time".

She nods her head, biting her bottom lip. Not quite believeing that she is going to let herself trust him, _again_.

"What?" he asks over her silence.

"OK. I'm trusting you. I will get a couple of the team on the CTV".

He nods, and they stand a while in silence, both not quite sure how to end this conversation.

So Dexter prolongs it. "So, Winslop?"

"I referred him to Miss Lee".

"Oh"

"What?"

"Nothing – I just. I don't like the way he looks at you".

* * *

They managed to keep out the others way until Harrison's pick up time, where Dexter fell in pace with Deb in the pre-school park. With sunglasses shading her alarm; they both exchanged weak smiles, as they walked to the building in sync.

Harrison let out a squeal of delight when he saw both of them togther. He bounced on his feet not knowing who to run and hug first.

He chose Deb; who after had sufficed her squeeze, gently passed him on to his anxious father.

They played the late afternoon away at the beach, where Dexter kept a more friendly distance away from them; and when Harrison toddled his way over to Dexter, she left them the beach to play. Although, with her running shoes double knotted, she watched them with wariness from her ocean view seat. She ate his food, and he sat comfortably in a distant arm rest as she read the child's favourite book, two, three times.

A page way through the fourth re-read; Deb tucked a slumbering Harrison tightly into his bed. She ruffled his hair, and swept away the stray hairs to place a delicate kiss on his forehead. Then turns to find Dexter up and out of his armrest; staring intently at Harrison's drawings.

"Dexter"

"Dexter", she moves to place a hand on his shoulder but he flinches away, he senses kicking back in.

"Are you OK?"

"Mhmm", he says refocussing his attention on his son's unclear works of art. "Just wondering what he see's...and what he doesn't".

Deb frowns, not understanding.

"Dexter, I wonderd if we could talk about the photograph that Maria had".

Dexter frowns momentarily confused. "I would be more worried about the dead cat you found outside your door?"

"Why? Only happened once; it was probably some zit faced wank of a teenager's idea of a prank".

Hisi eyebrows furrow again. "It's just I would hate for Harrison to see it", he leans closer into the crayola poster, steadies a hand on it. "Do you think he would draw it?" he whispers in wonderment.

"Er, I don't know?"

Dexter breathes in through his nose loudly. "It was the right thing. Taking him from me", he says, staring intently at her.

Deb nods.

"I know".

"I have to go", he announces dissapearing again into the night, not letting up, that when he wakes up the next day, there will most likely be another dead and abused animal waiting for him outside his front door.

* * *

_22:04_

Thursday had brought nothing that Wednesday had not already brung. Phone calls, CCTV monitoring, Facebook, lunch, meetings, coffee breaks, conferences, clocking in and clocking out.

Throughout the day, Maria's photograph whirled around Deb's mind so much, that she didn't even work up a temper when Angel informed the team, again, that they still had not got the forensics report. Dexter had met her again in the pre-school car park; and Harrison again chose her to embrace first instead of his father. They laized the afternoon away at the beach, Dexter made dinner, and then Deb decided to give father and son time on their own to pay special attention to the house upkeep, or the lack of it. With Harrison and work, her house was even more of a mess than it usual tidy mess, except from the kitchen, which was almost clinacally clean after Dexter cooking in it. But she could tell that the rest of the house was making his skin crawl. So she decided to start in his son's bedroom, making her way round to her own pig sty of a bedroom, the bathroom – so much sand; where she also paid attention to her own personal upkeep. When she heard Dexter and Harrison head towards the bathroom around 21:00 for his evening bath, she tackled the open planned living room area.

She was throwing another dead houseplant into the waste, thinking that after all this cleaning, she might have to have another shower after all, when Dexter emerged back into the living room.

"You know, you should really compost that", he comments.

She shrugs.

"And recycle, you know, the environment", he patronises.

She shrugs again, opening the fridge and capping a well deserved beer. She takes a long swig, and then offers him a sip.

He shakes his head, studying her intently.

Suddenly she is self conscious about how sweaty and unattractive she must look in her old sweats, and wet hair which she is pretty sure is no longer wet but greasy.

Deb puts her beer down, a wipes some stray sticky hairs from her face.

She realises, she is no longer afraid of him.

They stand in silence.

Dexter breaks it. "Harrison", he indicates with his thumb, "has no sheets on his bed? I went to put him in yours, but neither do you".

Deb indicates to the four black trash bags of washing ready for the launderette. "He will tomorrow".

"You only have one set of sheets?"

"No two, but one set between the two of us"

His eyebrows furrow but he nods.

"I can bring some of his sheets from home, if you want?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, if you want...that will be... helpful".

He stands in the middle of the room analysing her for a moment more, before he blinks away whatever thoughts were running through her head.

"Right, well, I better get going", he says, making his way to the door.

"Wait-", she says lurching after him, but then halting immediately as a erotic wave rushes through her, as she remembers his nimble proming hands on her back, the feeling going straight to her nipple buds. And a the same time, a sensation of dread, cold, and tightening around her neck.

She takes back her earlier thought; and it seems so does he, his stature goes very stiff, as if afraid that she might touch him.

"What?" he hisses.

_Don't leave_.

Deb frowns at her thought.

"I wanted to uhm, talk more about the photograph", she half lies, because she does also want to share what has been looping in her mind all day.

"Deb", he sighs, annoyed, with a hint of relief, "you are wasting your time with your photograph. I know what your thinking, and it's madness for you to even think it's true. Harry is not my biological father. Joseph Driscoll, he died seven years ago. DNA tests don't lie".

"I know Dex", she scolds, "but Ru-Brian, your brother did. He said he loved me and wanted to marry me, but then he tried to kill me".

So did Dexter.

The thought visibly goes through the siblings minds.

"Masuka did the tests himself".

"I dont trust him"

"You dont trust Masuka?"

"No, I don't trust Rudy!"

"Deb. You don't have to worry about trusting him or not", his voice rising.

"He was trying to gain your trust!", her voice and arms explodes, "your 'father', so _conveniently_ died, so he could use it to manipulate you and gain your trust!".

Everything within him stills, he frowns at the floor, digesting her implications. "You really think he would do that?" he asks, and he sounds like a child.

"I don't know Dex, and neither do you, and why would we, he is a stranger to us".

He frowns, taking in her words or not really listening at all.

"But don't you think it is worth a second check? ... I mean I know its pretty fucking important to me", she almost snorts, although it is the complete opposite to how she is feeling.

His frown deepens, lost in thought.

"Dex!" she snaps and he snaps his head to attention.

"Sorry. I have to go", he bolts out the door.

Her arms slap against her thighs in frustration.

* * *

Deb rubs her hands in her face as she walks down the corrdor to the bull ring, she feels like she is going crazy. Correction, she is going crazy, she needs to stop herself from subverting her sanity to everyone else. Her destination is Dexter's office.

She is stopped by Winslop.

"Morgan", he addresses, and she is surprised when she hears no snideness in it. Even more surprised that she is not trying to contain a snap.

She nods politely, slightly more than impatient over being stopped.

"Elizabeth Van Haugh, should be flying in this afternoon. Didn't know if you wanted to be there".

"Yes", she says enthusiastically, momentarily reverting back into work mode. "Orders from the top said to alert the media too. About time we got some good news", she says continuing her walk.

"OK. Will do", he calls after her, feeling slightly dejected.

* * *

_10:14_

"Deb?" Dexter asks over her locking the door and closing the blinds to his office.

She stands, flustered, hands on hips, breathing heavily. She looks at him looking up at her from his desk chair, looking so vulnerable, remind her so much of his son she loves.

His finger prints on her neck and hip burn, and she has the urge to straddle and kiss him. But this is not why she is here.

He frowns incrediously at her as she searches the office, pulling out draws, moving his inventory, until she finds what she is looking for. A cotton bud.

She swabs her mouth and holds it up purposefully.

"You, me. We're going to check that were not related, and you are going to do the test, so we know for sure. I know it doesn't matter to you bu-".

"It does", he assures her carefully, and she nods, his answer already calming her. "But-"

She rolls her eyes and flares her nostrils.

"-your being - we are not brother and sister. At least not biologically", he frowns.

Deb bites her lip to prevent her words from exploding. It is in vain. "I know you think I am going insane, but fucking insane is what I am going to be, if we don't do this fucking test!"

"OK Deb", he holds up his hands in defeat. "But I can't do it right now", he says getting up, turning off his computer and starting to collect his things.

She frowns confused over his movements.

"It's not fricking lunch time yet, Dex".

"I know", he sighs, annoyed by her statement of the obvious. "Before you barged in. I was just about to call you after I called the hospital. Astor needs me in Orlando, they were in a car accident. Astor was driving the car-".

Deb's hands shoot over her mouth, the cotton bud drops to the floor.

"Are they...?" she dares ask, a hand moving to rest against her still heart.

"Yes, from what I can discern through her tears... I don't know", he says frustrated. "I just know I have to get there, now".

"Of course, do yo-"

"-I wanted to take Harrison with me too".

She stills, and he turns his attention to her.

Deb starts to shake her head, no.

"Deb, I promise I will bring him back to you".

* * *

_01:34_

Deb returned from work with no Harrison with her. It felt strange, like there was a piece of her missing.

She had not left work until 20:30, deciding to help Quinn, Miller and Angel, trail through the CCTV. It had felt like old times, a warmness rose in her heart, only for it to frequently disspate when that annoying voice in her reminded her that she would be going home alone.

She had had to go with Dexter to sign Harrison out of nursary. She had told him that she wouldn't be seeing her for a couple of days, and she felt disheartened when he had simply replied, "OK, Mama".

That small annoying voice in the back of head, kept telling her that Dexter would go against his word, that he would not bring Harrison back to her. That he had been buttering her up all this week so that his plan would work.

So why did she let him get away with it?

Fucking heart.

Shitting weak muscle.

The Miss Lee and daughter reunion had gone well, cameras everywhere, and for this evening atleast, Miami Metro were in the media and cities good books again. Although unlike her superiors, the thought of Harrison not being there at home, would not allow her to get too elated.

Elizabeth Van Haugh agreed to a press conference. Her statement, 'I wanted to know what the people were like in New York'.

Fucking kids.

Who would have them?

Not Deb.

She has willingly given Harrison back to the man she was supposed to be saving him from.

The CCTV had turned out fruitful too. Between the four of them, they had finished watching the CCTVs from the six hour ETD, the only piece of pathology they had. A few unknown figures to add to their snapshots of possible eye witnesses of suspects of the crime. One at 22:46, another at 02:34, and another at 04:52. All by the build, male. All ready to be plastered on the front of tomorrow's morning news paper and news report, 'are you me, or do you know me?'. Their photos would also be shown to Miss Lee's daughter and the other three victims, personally by one of the team members tomorrow.

Seeing as she didn't have Harrison, Deb may well sign herself up for that task.

They went back to Angel's old restaurant for a few celebratory drinks. Where the conversation mainly consisted of Masuka based jokes, and how the restaurant did not hold a candle to how it was when Angel had it.

Stumbling into her bungalow, when she finally manages the lock. Deb pulls Quinn towards her bedroom from the lapel of his shirt. They pull off each others clothes before falling on to bed. It is only when he has her lying on her front, does she realise that she has forgotten to pick up their laundry, and that her bed is still unmade.

* * *

_05:45_

Deb rises early and paddles into Harrison's bedroom, to gaze upon his empty bed. She is surprised when she finds all of Harrison's furniture from Dexter's house in her spare bedroom. She makes her way back into the main front room to find her sofa bed, neatly tucked in the far corner of the living room. As if that is where it was always supposed to be.

She spies keys on the floor. She rushes over and picks them up.

There Dexter's, with the key chain of the two of them and Harrison.

Her thumb nails scratches over it, before rubbing it lovingly.

Her eyes find the moval companys business card and a heavily padded envelop on her kitchen island.

Harrison's high chair poignantly seated next to it.

She opens the letter hastily.

Harrison's passport.

Dexter had left it for her because he means to bring him back to her.

Like he promised.

Her's and Quinn's cells shrill at the same moment she realises that he should not be here, in their house.

She answers it.

Angel.

He is flustered.

And rightly so.

"...She was who?"

"Funny sounds like you said..."

Quinn steps out into the front room – naked, but with the same shocked expression on his face.

The dead highschooler has been possibly ID'd.

"Oh Jesus fucking mokey mating with an oranguntan. OK, I'm, I'm on my way".

* * *

_Sunday_

It is early, when Dexter deposits a sleeping Harrison next to where Deb sleeps, on fresh laundered sheets. She smiles in her sleep recognising his smell and weight. She stretches her arm out like a cat and brings him further into her bosom.

She deeply inhales his scent.

"Harrison", she kissed the top of his warm head.

"I told you I would bring him back to you", she hears him whisper, but there is somthing wrong with his voice. Distinctly more melancholy than usual.

"Dexter?" she asks, opening her eyes immediately. It is still not light, and it takes a while for them to find him.

He is hunched over the bottom of her bed, deep in thought. Troubled thought.

He raises his head in her direction, it drops to look at Harrison, deep in slumber. Then rises out of her bedroom.

"Dexter?"

She follows him out her house and to his car.

He has brought her more than one child home.

* * *

_22:46_

Dexter slumps onto the couch in the living room, and holds his head up with his fingers. Anyone can see that he is gagging to lean back, but he won't allow himself to rest just yet.

"Dexter?"

Deb asks emerging out of the bathroom.

He nods in his zomblie like state, he tries a few times, but cannot seem to open his eyes.

She walks over to him, her senses on high alert.

His clearly in another galaxy as he jumps when he feels her hands underneath his shirt and on his bare shoulders.

"Shhh", she soothes through her nerves, "I am just going to give you a massage", she flexes her hands, liking the feel of his muscles underneath her touch. "You've had a difficult day".

"Don't", he orders, and her hands still, her body going cold. "Please. Don't touch me", he warns.

She removes her hands quickly, twiddling them nervously, and he stands, staring at her, fully awake now.

He moves his lips, an apology on his lips, but then it leaves.

"I have to go".

_**Y... So?**_

_**who should the dead high schooler be? Any ideas, someone famous. Wait, I just had someone pop to mind... :) but I will welcome ideas. **_

**_And does anyone know whether deb actually knows that dex killed Rudy?_**

**_I hope to have the next chapter next week, but life is hectic at the moment. Anyway, thank you for reading, and for your reviews, favourites and follows. They bring an extra smile to my day. Thank-you for reading. Until next update!_**


	7. Jumbled Pieces

Jumbled Pieces

_Monday_

The conversation was not the sort of one that you had in day light, in relative public. It was one left usually for cold, dark, rainy nights; when all civilisation apart from those in question would be under lock and key. Maybe a dark alley way in a secluded part of town; in the middle of an abandoned highway; or maybe, on a boat at night in the middle of the ocean. But for reasons undignified, this was not the case.

Winslop's eyes hazed over his Captain's gold name plaque, positioned perfectly for his eye level. He respected the man, there was no question about that. He had worked with him many years and was like a father figure to him, took him under his wing, showed him the ropes, when his own father had died.

But today, today he was in for a bollocking, and he knew it.

There was only so long he could hide though; that he would allow him to hide.

Winslop rapped loudly and confidently on the office door before opening it.

"You wanted to see me, Clyde?" he asks, giving nothing away.

Sat behind a mound of paperwork, the older man acknowledges the younger one over the top of his half-moon rimmed reading glasses. Verging in his sixties, he is a large, stocky man; his missus obviously piles his plate up at least three times for breakfast and for dinner. If she is smart, she is trying to induce a heart attack. He had managed to fit in a 2XL white work shirt, but he probably should have gone a size up, if not for appearance sake, for the very least, so that his skin could breathe. But then with the room's AC cranked to the max, it was near freezing in this room.

A chill runs down Winslop's back.

"Sir", the older man corrects with a pointed look before resuming his paperwork; leaving Winslop to stand dumbly in the middle of the room.

After a few hesitant treads on the spot, Winslop moves to take a seat.

"- Don't sit", the booming voice reprimands; removing his glasses, and lodging them in a breast pocket. "That seat is for guests, not for persons currently in my major fuck up books".

His large, hairy hand gestures glumly to the paper work, "this is the aftermath of your fuck up", he says gruffly, retrieving his glasses so that he can twiddle the ends between his teeth, "I should be making you do it".

"Clyde-", Winslop starts, his hands up in an apology, but stopping short as the older man's eyes narrow on him. "- Captain Channing", he starts again, "I know I made a mistake with th-"

"Mistake!" Channing laughs out a cough in his disbelief.

Winslop purses his lips, his cheeks heating.

"Mistake", Channing continues, "a mistake might be sending the wrong good to one of out C list clients; a brunette instead of a blonde; white instead of black; tall instead of petite. They would have really strung us up all by our balls untill dry from your, 'mistake'. Thirty five years of work gone to the shit house".

"I, I, why – wa-", Winslop bumbles, trying to find the right words. "Well what the fuck do you want me say. I –"

"What the fuck do I want you to say?" Channing repeats incredulously, once more, sending sharp shivers down Winslop's spine. "I want you to fucking apologise, you fucking fuck. I've been sat waiting for two weeks for an apology".

"Alright – well I, I am sorry I fucked up", Winslop admits, shuffling nervously, his hand roughly touselling his curls near the back of his neck. "How the fuck was I supposed to know who she was? I thought she was just another potential girl...but, it's it's sorted now, I took care of it. The spooks have their guy".

"I really hope it is, Rory", he condecendes.

"It is", he assures, "they wanted someone to hang, and they have him. He's a homeless drunk, no one is going to miss him".

Channing nods, as convinced as he is going to be on the matter.

Winslop takes that as a queue to bolt.

"Winslop", the voice calls after him. "I know you can't help who you like, but you need to learn to control your God damn urges. Patterns lead to suspicion. Now I love you like a son, but I am not above throwing your name to the dogs for the sake of my business".

Winslop nods understanding. "I am. Believe me, I am. I'm finding away round them".

* * *

THE HYPE around, 'Operation Duckling', left no sooner than it had arrived. Miami's interest had been lost as soon as their lost duckling became a white swan. Or unidentified officials, *cough, cough*, the FBI, had taken it over, and put a red tape around media coverage. Nothing had been revealed to the public as yet, of the victim's true identity. All the paperwork, everything logged concerning, 'Operation Duckling', and its links to the three trafficked girls, dropped, destroyed. Officially and unofficially. At least so is thought.

...

A little over two weeks later, Miami is relatively back to normal. Four or five homicide cases have been added to the whiteboard chart, but then, that was what made everything normal.

Duties at work and at home kept Deb out of the field, and relatively out of the loop; save, the odd morning pep talk she manages to attend, or when Angel would would update her on the stance of a case, so that she could update Matthews, so that he could update the board, and so on. Bureaucracy. Heaven forbid if the hierarchy was compromised.

Sat in her lonely, expanse office, Deb sighs loudly over the lack of her speech written in front of her, despite working on it for almost an hour now, and with the conference she glances up at the wall clock – forty minutes.

Fuck.

Her eyes mournfully flick back over her speech – it is just was not witty enough, it is just not, 'Deb', enough.

Perhaps her sigh was over a loss more than her speech.

She decided to take a wander for inspiration.

Down the corridors, the lift, until she finds herself outside Dexter's office. She is not exactly sure why because she knows that he is not here – but maybe Masuka would provide her with some entertainment.

Entering the office, panic rises in her over the three huddled forms of Quinn, Masuka, and Angel sat around Dexter's computer.

Before loosening.

Masuka staring so intently at a computer screen – they are probably looking at porn.

She clears her throat purposefully, making Quinn and Angel jump, whipping around quickly, Masuka waits to close whatever it was they were looking at.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" she smirks lightheartedly.

But from the panic and guilt etched on the men's faces, they do not share her humour.

Deb's earlier felt panic starts to rise again.

Suddenly the sight of them _surrounding_ Dexter's property, like scavenging hyenas, makes her see red.

She feels her eyes visibly darken, transgressing through her entire body.

Like a lioness, she must protect her pack.

Why the fuck does she not have her gun on her?

She backs up against the door, knowing full well that they could bolt through Masuka's side of the office; but she is not creating a barricade, she is edging for the fire extinguisher. It is light and at the same time solid, so that with a harsh swing, she figures it could knock someone out, or even three fully sized men. The fire alarm is placed above it, and would add beautiful anonymity to her actions, and then perhaps, there will be an actual fire.

"What the fuck is going on here guys?" she repeats, this time darkly.

Deadly, alien thoughts suddenly pollute her mind.

She has killed before. She can again, easily, if necessary.

Her eyes dart towards Quinn when his laugh breaks their rouse.

Her eyebrow cocks up at him for an explanation.

"Just working on a case"

"What case?" she hisses.

All three are silent, guilty stares gazing anywhere but on her.

"The Norma Rivera case"

"OK" Deb crosses her arms, still unconvinced, "what did you find?"

"Nothing", Quinn laughs, scratching the back of his head.

After being together a year, it is tell-tale sign to Deb that he is lying.

"Why are you using Dexter's computer?"

"Masuka's is being repaired, and Dexter is not using it, so...", he trails off, shrugging his shoulders and lips. Explanation over.

"How did you log on?" One arm drops, her fingertips brushing lightly against the metallic red of the fire extinguisher.

"Masuka", he points his thumb to the man sitting next to him. "Dexter gave it to him a while ago for a case, and its the same one..."

Deb does not even entertain that as the truth. Dexter is too meticulous for that.

She flicks her gaze to Masuka, who is looking at her so un-Masukaish.

Her eyes narrow on him, and he smiles weakly at her.

"Not my fault Dex forgot to put the plastic back on his dick" – huh huh huh.

Pure Masuka.

Deb's eyes further narrow on him as he proudly looks to the men either side of him to gain appreciation over his joke.

Quinn stifles a chuckle and Angel looks to the heavens, muttering something under his breath.

At the same time, she inner walls clench deliciously; fighting away images of Dexter's rampant penis.

A worrying thought suddenly crosses her mind, and just like that, she has to leave.

"OK", she says slowly, her twitching hand relaxing.

She has to go.

"Just remember chain of command. Anything, and you come to me first", she warns before exiting the room.

Fuck. She sounded just like LaGuerta.

* * *

Deb did not know what shat her up the most.

She delivered her speech and then spent most of the conference, drawing as little as attention to herself.

Stewing.

They were definitely hiding something.

Something about Dexter.

Something that could... hurt him.

And then in turn destroy her.

She has to stop them.

But how?

She knew know that her earlier solution was if anything, fatuous and puerile.

Although... she had ... _delighted _in the ... _thrill_, of the idea.

But what if there had been cameras and she had gotten caught?

Where would Harrison be then.

And now there was not only he to worry about.

It was shameful.

Throughout the meeting she had tried to become discount over the wave of, of... what she could only describe as lust, adrenaline, and maybe deeply longed for _connection; _when she had contemplated smashing there heads with the cylinder metallic red tube.

Would have it even have had an affect...?

Or would they have just shook it off and met their blinking bewildered eyes.

It was harrowing how much her curiosity wanted to know for sure.

...

The conference cleared around her, but Deb stayed.

"A penny for your thoughts"

A cent is flicked in her direction; landing loudly on the birch wood surface.

Deb's heart stops over the voice so close to her, breaking her negligent reverie.

Breathlessly, she turns a glowering stare on the assaulter.

Winslop.

He is smiling coyly at her.

Even sexy...

Frowning, she then realises how hot her face feels, boiling even, and fans her clammy hands around her fiery cheeks and neck – imperfection free again. Trailing her hand down the skin of her front, slipping it through her charcoal silk blouse, with a low V, to rest it on her speedy heart rate. Her nails dig into her skin as she wills herself to get a grip. It is not like she was thinking her thoughts out loud.

Indeed, that is the great thing about thoughts, only you know what you are truly thinking.

"Or do you need to spend a penny?" Winslop jokes, flicking another cent in her direction; still frowning, she dodges it, and it falls to the floor, echoing loudly.

"Jesus. What the fuck?" she admonishes harshly, starting to hurriedly collect her things.

Winslop chuckles, "you looked kind of out of it, in fact, the whole meeting you looked like you were just not here... in heavy contemplation of something... it troubled you..."

Deb flushes, feeling his eyes analysing her closely, her movements instinctually slowing own.

"...it showed on your face", he continues in a snake like whisper, "you had lines... you still have. So, I can only surmise that it was something you perhaps should not be contemplating...".

Her frown hardens.

Fuck.

She could not allow herself to be that easy to read.

"What do you want, _Winslop_"

Winslop raises his hands in the air, retreating away from her.

"Just making sure you did not end up spending the rest of the day here, _stewing_ in your thoughts".

_Stewing_.

How did _he_ know she was stewing.

She scowls at him again, which annoyingly only seems to make his amusement over her increase.

"Whatever it is", he smiles _reassuringly_, it could even be mistaken for, _kindly_, "it's not important. There are more important things, that require no worrying".

She glances at her wristwatch, he is half right.

* * *

"How was school?" Deb asks turning as much as her seat belt will allow her.

"Fine", the less than unenthused pre-teen slumps into the 4x4.

"Cody!" Harrison squeals excitedly.

Cody sighs deeply, "yes Harrison, it's me", he grumbles belting up and placing himself as far in the corner of the back passenger seat as possible, away from his half brother and 'aunt'.

"He's just excited to see you", Deb chirps; but it does not lift the twelve year old's mood, or his vacant stare out of the window.

"Still. After two weeks", he mumbles finally.

"Yeah, well...", Deb starts the engine, straightening back in her seat; there is a steady flow of school traffic.

"... I'm sure it will ware off...", her eyes find Harrison through the rear view mirror, staring patiently after Cody, his podgy legs kicking silently against his car seat. He hums a quiet tune through the fingers stuck in his mouth. But Cody stares on out the window in front of him to, she turns in her seat to follow the twelve year old's eye sight...

A tree...?

"...Eventually".

Eventually.

Eventually, everything will just stop and fit into place.

It has to.

Deb sighs drumming her fingers against the string wheel; the traffic is not letting up.

"Did you make any friends?" she asks after a while.

"Sure".

"Good", she smiles relief washing over her pinched face.

"Sooooo many. They all asked me round to dinner too. I'm going to have to make a schedule", he utters sarcastically.

This pre-teen needs his bedroom ...Or the bedroom that he shares with his _estranged_ half brother (whose father was responsible for the death of their mother) in his 'aunt's' (who is fact his step father's adopted sister, who actually introduced her adopted brother to his mother after she acquainted with her after a vice case) house - Oh, and lets not forget the fact that his 'aunt' once wanted her brother to make her his lover.

Spotting a slight gap in the traffic, Deb goes to pull out, but is forced back in by Land Rover.

_Fucking soccer moms_.

... Did she just call fuck on herself...?

* * *

"Can we order pizza?" Cody asks in what would be called the hallway of Deb's shrinking bungalow. The spot where the kitchen/ dining room, living room and hallway to the bedrooms all meet.

Deb looks up from the game she is entertaining Harrison with.

Darkness has not yet swept over Miami and he is already dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt for bed. His mother's spindly limbs, are now starting to take structure and form into sturdy strong muscular ones. Just like his father, she guesses..

"Cody!"

They both look out of place, sprawled out on the living room floor dressed in their beach ware, with no sand, Harrison's flourescent orange swimming arm bands. But then Cody had not wanted to go to the beach, and Deb had not wanted to leave Cody by himself. So, they were playing pretend.

"Again?" she jokes through her annoyance.

Cody shrugs, "yes", in all seriousness.

She lets out a sort of chuckle, "we agreed. One more day of take out and then proper food".

Cody shrugs again.

"It's not Playdo", he indicates to the plastic blob Harrison is about to chew on.

Deb's eyes follows, and swipes it out of the toddlers hand.

"Healthy".

"I'll order extra sweetcorn".

"Home made".

Cody sighs, "whatever, I just won't eat".

* * *

_Tuesday_

"Finally ditched the dream team then?" a voice asks, just as Deb takes a large bite into her large, chicken burrito – chipotle salsa - she has not worked her way up yet to habanero.

Deb rolls her eyes.

Annoyingly, she has come to know that voice by sound.

Winslop.

She will not give him that satisfaction though. Fixing a frown on her forehead, she turns, as if bewildered by the speaker's voice.

The way he is smiling at her knowingly though, as if he can see through her ploy, fucks her right off.

By their own will, her lips fight to twitch in their frustration, against the large portion of cow, currently rolling around in her mouth. She raises her eyebrows up over her aviators at him in recognition, and then turns to walk away.

"Wait", his fingers skirt her wrist, making her skin go all goose pimply.

Shocked by his too interment action, Deb jumps around, almost dropping her food.

Specks of salsa make it onto her shirt, but then its black – but satin - oil - going to be a bitch to get out. Some has made its way on to Winslop's white work shirt, but she does not feel guilty, if anything, it is his fault.

She is surprised however, that when she meets his eyes, they wear the same shock as hers.

They then turn to intrigue, and then ... – something else she cannot quite put her finger on it...

A glint maybe...?

Looking so intently into his eyes, she realises she has never noticed the colour of them before.

How blue they are...

Like the ocean...

Reflecting a brilliant blue sky...

Light blue, not dark...

The hue you find on a white sand beach...

"They are beautiful", she hums.

Her mouth instantly gapes.

Horrified.

But luckily Winslop had not noticed her indiscretion. He is too busy smiling at something in his own little world.

She hurries off.

* * *

_Wednesday_

Deb sits alone on a park bench on the Miami River near NW ninth street. Picking at her burrito; she has treated herself to steak, and went for medium salsa so she could enjoy it more.

But it makes no difference to her appetite.

She misses Dexter.

She misses her 'friends'.

Adult company.

She is doing a definite botch job with Cody.

Harrison...

Her mind wanders to the imaginary friend he has now somehow acquired.

... questionable.

She sighs deeply.

Are her friends still her friends...?

_...Dexter._

"Another penny for your thoughts", a cent is flicked in her direction.

Jesus fuck, thrice in a row.

"...unless you want to spend a penny", Winslop chuckles, flicking another one.

Deb turns her frown towards him, but cannot help the smile over his lightheartedness.

She quickly averts her gaze away.

He is actually rather handsome.

"_What?"_ she asks her burrito, a chuckle getting caught in the back of her throat.

"Sorry. I studied in England for a year when I was younger".

Deb frowns at a memory, "I remember", she slips out.

She turns her head towards him and catches his full watt smile... She decides to refocus her attention on her half eaten food.

"What? Are you following me now?" not raising her gaze.

"Following ... who?" Winslop asks, "...me?" he feigns shock, and Deb cannot help but look up, laughing over his over dramatical expression.

"I, I, was following up on a case", he looks away from her, as if embarrassed.

It is quite adorable actually.

Deb cocks an eyebrow up.

"Really", Winslop assures, "Captain Channing's orders", he jokes, making a salute. "And as you know, he is not a force to be reckoned with".

He notices Deb's face darken.

"What?" he falls too.

She does not just miss, she _needs_ Dexter.

Were their friends still their friends...?

Angel had Maria.

Masuka had ...? Maria...?

Quinn had...? Maria...? Jealousy...? He had always suspected Dexter's involvement with Rita's death. An act of jealousy.

If they were not her friends, how would she deal with it ...?

What about Harrison.

Cody.

_...!_

"What?" Winslop persists.

From her peripheral, she sees his hand come to encase her shoulder, she moves quickly.

"Nothing important", getting up, she walks away to her car.

* * *

_Thursday_

_07:42_

"Cody...", Deb raps on the closed door of her spare bedroom – Harrison's bedroom - 'Cody's and Harrison's bedroom'. Or at least it is supposed to be. The double sofa bed was squeezed back in to accommodate Cody, but for over two weeks now, Deb has been sharing her bed and chest of drawers with a two foot nothingner.

"Cody".

Silence.

Quietly humming by her feet, Harrison swings his small tri-coloured rucksack by his side; while the other one, hangs languidly round Deb's calf; Clarence digging into her skin. Even with Thomas back, Clarence is still the favourite.

"Cody...", Deb repeats through her weariness; her mind is fuzzing a hundred miles an hour. Over what, she does not know, but she is certain of one thing, all she wants to do is to scream.

Scream and run away.

"...Cody come on or you'll be late for school".

"Only you care", sounds through the door.

Deb goes to open her mouth, and then bites it shut.

"Fine", she says, trying another tactic.

"I'll just call in work, and take the day off. That way we can all stay at-"

Her words are stopped by Cody slumping out through the bedroom door, slamming it closed behind him, as he stalks with his backpack slung over one shoulder to the car.

Ahhh - Family love.

* * *

_09:44_

Deb has managed to keep away from these morning meetings since uncovering Quinn's, Masuka's and Angel's indiscretion; but there is no opting out of this mornings. Matthew's wants an update, and of course, it has to come from Deb.

All throughout the meeting, Deb's gaze remains fixed in front; half heartedly listening to the case details:

Norma Riveira - the case that the guys were using Dexter's machine to do 'research' on.

Hispanic.

Maid.

Found dead in her apartment.

Her boss, Ed Hamilton, suspect.

Matthew's would not want to bored with anything more than that.

Instead her concentration whirls overdrive, trying A) not to sweat while she B) decides what she is going to do about the lieutenant, the detective and the forensic... -er?

And she can feel their eyes on her.

All three pairs.

Boring into her.

Waiting for her to make her decision.

To act.

To revolt.

To put them in their place.

But she does not know how...

If it were just she and Dexter...

...

Angel tries to pursue her once the meeting is over.

"Deb", he calls over the crowd.

She weaves through the homicide staff; so many new faces, people she has yet to know.

... Or maybe they have been here all the time, and she just never bothered.

She bumps into one of them, harshly, and mumbles an apology.

Maybe she could ask Matthew's...? He did after all tell her to come to him if she was ever in trouble. Although this 'trouble' was probably far from what he had in mind.

...

Deb lets out a sigh of relief when she is in the lift. Then tenses slightly over the memory of her and Dexter's infamous lift encounter. Her reflexes have not entirely recovered.

She loosens, eventually, and lets out a sigh. Before going cold, when she realises, there _is_ a pair of eyes on her.

Sea blue.

The same pair she had silently complemented before.

"Hey, knock knock", Winslop smirks, leaning off the lift wall.

"Oh! Jesus fuck"

She watches his large, close clipped thumb punch her floor.

"Not funny, huh?" he asks.

Deb closes herself off from him, turning to face the lift. Lips pursed shut, elbows hunched over her tightly knotted arms. Her black pant work attire seemed a little heated against her skin this morning in the lift, but now all she feels is ice cold and invisible. Strangely, her nipple buds and the hollows of her stomach seem like the only body parts filling the silk and cotton cloths.

The lift carries them up, it feels, under a mile an hour.

When it finally pings, its doors opening, Deb bolts, but Winslop beats her to it.

"Let me just get to the butt of it", he whispers - too close, "when are you going to let me in?"

* * *

_14:34_

"Deb, Deb, Deb", Angel rolls off her name, pacing after her.

Fuck, he must have been waiting for her.

"Deb!"

She does not stop until his hand rests largely on her silk shoulder and he turns to stand in front of her.

Deb shrugs his hand away; glaring at him as best as she can through her aviators, her lips pinched.

He waits to get his breath.

"Look, I'm, I'm, a-", he breathes heavily, resting a hand on his heart.

Deb's left eyebrow shoots up, maybe if she keeps running away from him, she will cause him to induce a heart attack.

"I'm sorry about all that secretive-", he pauses, caught up with his breath "all the secretiveness the other day... but, well", he scratches his moustache while he finds the right words, "the less you know, the better it is for you... at least until we know for sure. Sorry I know its cryptic...", he trails off, resting his hand to rub the back of his neck. "... So, how is everything with you... You know... with Cody...?"

"Everything's fine", she moves to walk away, "oh fuck - I forgot, Matthew's says Hamilton is a no go"

Angel frowns, "but he is our leading suspect"

Deb shrugs, "take it up with him, just a messenger".

* * *

_21:04_

Deb pokes her head around the corner of the wall in the 'corridor', to the loud peacefulness in the living room.

Cody's lounged on the sofa watching whatever children's show is blaring from the television set, with Harrison, sprawling on top of him in a star shape.

Dressed for 'bed', Cody in his boxers; Harison, who toddled in on her treadmill work out an hour or so, demanding to put on his Pull Ups, is dawning nothing but. It seems the pepperoni pizza that Deb gave in and ordered, has as much ended up down Harrison's front, than it has in his stomach. They have been watching TV for almost two hours now, but -

Cody and Harrison explode into a fit of giggles over something they have both seen.

Cody laughing.

Deb's face breaks out in a smile. It is a much welcomed noise. And maybe she is not portraying the best parenting in the world, but if pizza and television is what it takes – then fuck it. It has been Deb's most easy evening in over two weeks.

Her heart flutters over Cody tightening his grip around his brother, holding the loving embrace long after their laughter has died down.

...

She is still smiling when she renters her bedroom. Her face falls however, as she is confronted with her laptop screen, and what has been keeping her in her bedroom for the past two, almost three hours.

Digging up dirt on Quinn, Angel and Masuka. It is all she can really do, she does not trust anyone enough to look after Harrison while she... while she does what...?

She flops dismally on to her bed and stares at the screen.

The Dirt is going ... well it would be going better if she did not take a twenty minute treadmill break every ten minutes to run off pent up worry.

She wishes her mind would run clear.

That it would not worry over the consequences for Harrison.

That she had someone to run her worries through.

That Dexter was right here by her side...

But he will be home soon, and then her thoughts will run crystal.

She worries her bottom lip.

He told her not to worry, that he would _deal_ with it.

If only she could stop fretting that it would not be all to soon enough.

Maybe she should just confront Quinn about it tomorrow. If there is anyone she could break, it would be him...?

Maybe she should just listen to what Dexter instructed, to just sit and wait...?

* * *

_23:04_

Since has become the recent trend, that in the evening after Harrison is asleep, and Cody is as close as she is ever going to get to a structured bed time, usually consisting of him just in his room. Which has laid fact that for many of a night, Cody has actually been the first to go to 'bed'.

Regardless, the ritual has become that Deb enjoys a beer, whilst sat on her front porch, listening to the waves against the shore. Sometimes it is a steady gentle swosh, sometimes a rolling sound of drums, this evening they are surprisingly calm.

"Deb?"

Deb frowns into the poorly lit darkness.

"_Quinn?"_

"Yeah" he makes himself more apparent, trudging his way up the steps, he stops and hovers around the second step.

"What do you want?" she holds her breath, her thumb playing with the label edge of her beer.

"I don't know", he puts his hands into his pockets, looking longingly at her, "I guess I wanted to see if we were still OK?"

"I don't know, you tell me?"

"Well what the fuck is that supposed to me"

"Tell me the fucking truth about what the fuck you guys were doing on Dexter's computer".

Quinn lets out a huge gust of air.

"I can't tell you that", he says eventually.

Deb raises her gaze to him for the first time, looking him square in the eyes.

"Why the fuck not?"

Quinn wavers slightly, trying to find the right words.

"I just can't. It's best that you don't know".

"Well", she swings a mouthful of beer down her throat, "you've answered your own question. Now please fuck o-".

The front door swings open and Cody steps out, inspecting Quinn closely.

"Cody?" Deb asks, placing down her beer.

She hears Quinn mumble that he will see her tomorrow.

Cody watches him leave.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asks.

Personal much?

"Uhh, no. What are you doing up out of bed?"

"I was up getting water, I thought it was Dexter", he sighs mournfully.

"When is he coming back?" he mumbles to his feet, it is so muffled that Deb suspects that he might be crying.

"Uhh I don't know... soon", she sighs, looking into her palms. "... I hope", she whispers to herself.

But Cody hears it, "me too".

He stands for another moment or so before turning back into the house. He stops.

"You know..."

Deb raises her attention from her palms to the twelve year old.

"... you don't have to pretend to care about me".

Deb is so shocked by his insinuation, that her response does not make it out until he is out of earshot.

* * *

_Friday_

Deb spies Winslop sat on the bench outside Miami Metro entrance as she leaves for work. Behind his shades he is reading a newspaper; she figures that maybe she can slip past him unnoticed.

Of course to no avail.

"Come back for another joke?" he asks, folding away his newspaper. "Have you heard about the rookie cop that became a captain...?" he smiles.

Smiling too, "almost as funny as the penny spender who made it to lieutenant"

"Touché" he laughs, folding his newspaper away completely.

"Listen, I have a favour to ask...?" he waits.

"...OK? What's the favour" Deb jokes when he does no ask straight away.

"Oh yes", Winslop chuckles, "well I just expected that you would blow me off. Or is that only on the third favour", he smiles suggestively.

Deb rolls her eyes and starts to walk away.

Winslop lurches after her.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, it just slipped out", he apologises, taking off his sunglasses to show his sincerity, like he knows the effect his eyes have on her. "Really..."

Deb looks away, and tries to suppress a grin, "OK, well slip it back in".

...

"So what is this favour you wanted to ask me?" Deb asks when she has finished her burrito, bunching and throwing the wrapper into the red plastic vendor basket.

"Hmmm", Deb eats faster than the normal human being and he is stilling making his way through his. "First, tell me what's been eating you all this week?"

Deb frowns, "No. I asked first"

"Well not you", he smirks.

Deb smiles, not believing that she has walked into another one of his innuendos.

Winslop clears his throat, "seriously, I want you to do some background research. I am working on a case, my staff are all tied in the field. If you ever have time in your leisurely Captain hour days, or want a break from writing press speeches and paper work..."

Deb chews her lip, contemplating his proposal, "sure".

"Great", Winslop enthuses, impressed with himself. He takes a large bite of his food, "so", he says between his munching, "what's been eating you this week?"

Deb's eyes narrow on him through her aviators. "Nothing, just having some trouble with my homicide team".

It is not a complete lie.

"Yeah, like how?" he asks, interested.

Deb frowns. She does not need him to fight her battles. Instead, she shrugs his question away.

"Hey", he starts, "it ain't all roses at the top. It's then you learn who has really got your back, and who is ready to stick a knife in it. You gotta keep your friends close but your enemies closer".

That is the fucking third time someone has warnes her of that.

Which reminds her, is Winslop not her enemy...?

_**So... Winslop? What's Angel and co hiding? I'm a review whore, so let me know your thoughts. **_

_**First, sorry for the wait, same reason applies with last chapter update. I will try so the next one does not take so long. **_

_**2) Thanks, Dahlia Faith Black, for offering to beeta but it took so long for me to get this finished, I just wanted to get it up and not have to be waited on any longer.**_

_**3) I will go through and re-edit later. This chapter is a bit bleagh, did not quite get to the good bits, but next chapter, part II, will be more exciting. Please review and let me know your thoughts. Until next update – oh and for all of you watching s8 - am I the only one who just does not trust cassie, and that she looks like she could be dexter's sister. **_


	8. Rules Revised

_Thanks to those who reviewed, sorry I haven't had the time to reply. And those of you who favourited and followed, I am amazed by how many people read this fic - no pressure on me, haha.  
Work super busy, I cut this chapter short - sorry, but if I didn't y'all would have had to of waited another week. Reviews are always greatly appreciated, sorry in advance for the typos, particularly nearer the end where I haven't really edited. Until next update :)_

_Over one week later..._

Rules Revised

Miami waves brought to the city a rich multi-billionaire's yacht - completely out of the blue, but a definite green flag to the city's economy. Jamie's sudden arrival back, held the same green flag socially for Dexter. But an undercurrent had also been brought with them.

For Miami Metro, the Norma Riviera court case is being held today. And as it turned out, the husband did it not the boss, in a fit of jealousy. But he would be tried and convicted by the end of the day, and Miami's daylight would be that one more per capita safer. Or was it less?

For Debra, and her little bungalow by the shore. The waves had been even more than particularly relentless against the infrastructure. Just like her life, the tiny bungalow was getting increasingly more weathered, but at the same time more protected. Waves rushed through the cracks filling it, but at the same time making it more empty.

It was only a matter of time before they would both combust.

* * *

_March 4th  
Tuesday_

The press conference after the court ruling started on schedule.

Her speech, on time.

The questions over ran.

Clambering out of the cab, Deb mumbles something quickly to the driver, before flurrying up the ramp to the pre-school car park.

She is late. But it is not Harrison she is worried about -

"Deb"

She stops short, inwardly cringing over his condescending tone; then twirls slowly on the spot to the voice behind her.

Dexter.

Leaning in patient irritation against the front of her BMW.

Deb's nipples start to pebble over the sight of him, still wearing his navy suit from court earlier that day. It is an old one, he has not worn for years, his muscles do not fill the suit like they used to. What she has put on in weight, Dexter has lost these last few months. Stress, undoubtedly. Although over what specifically, he would never tell her as to why. She hardly sees him nowadays either, unless in passing. She is too busy being Captain, and then the kids.  
And Dexter...?  
Deb's eyebrows furrow.  
Well Dexter is busy doing whatever it is that Dexter _feels _he has to do. This is probably the most conversation they would have had in maybe a month, and even now it is concerning Harrison.  
Still, seeing him here in front of her, fueled by the wetness pooling between her thighs, boils away any malevolent thoughts. All that matters is that he is here in front of her now.

She smiles sweetly at him.

He shakes his head, reaches into his pocket and waves his cell purposefully.

"Dead battery", nibbling her bottom lip, she pulls an apologetic face.

"I didn't know 2:20 was the new 2:00?"

"Your car was fuck low on gas-"

"And your amazed as to why?" he smiles quizzically, "cars run out of gas, Debra".

"Yes, I know, Dex-ter", she rolls her eyes, "just like people run out of patie-", her breath hitches, her words trailing off as her eyes catch his left hand clench, the action stirring her insides to mimic.

They are silent, standing in unknown pent up sexual tension. The distant sound of cars, children laughing while playing, life going on around them, is once again white noise in their combined vacuum.

Dexter slowly lets go of his fist, and Deb's body slowly unwinds, allowing her to breathe again.

"Anyway...", her finger nails click in aggravatedly, "... managed to get it to the gas station. No cash. Fuck knows where my credit card has vanished to... Do you have twenty bucks for this cab?"

Dexter sighs heavily, "go on in. We don't want to be anymore late then we already are. I'll deal with it".

She narrows his eyes on him.

He will _deal_ with it.

He follows her train of thought, and manages to get a smirk out of him.

"I'll pay him", he corrects.

Deb smiles triumphantly, satisfied at herself that he is a little less angry than he was a few minutes ago. "You know, you could have gone in without me", she muses, "you are Harrison's father"

"I would have - ", he starts, her heart rate quickening as he slumps of her car rigidently, however not over fear, but anticipation.

Sticky and claustrophobic.

" - If, I wasn't worried that the moment I walked in without you, fifty special op agents wouldn't suddenly jump on me for trying to take Harrison without your consent".

Deb grins, he is praising her in his own special way.

"You love that about me".

Dexter slows, stopping short two metres or so of her. He moves his head from side to side, as if weighing the statement.

Her eyes train on his lips.

Puckered.

Wide.

Plump.

Aching to be traced by her tongue.

Her answer:

A frown, as he stares long and hard at her.

* * *

_15:01_

Pressing, niggling thoughts fought to override his attention. But his son's welfare is more important.

"Well, that was...", Dexter's words trail off as his frown increases. He looks up, hopeful, over to Deb who he is walking in tandem with; his son plays in her arms.

He guesses it is beautiful ...

No.

His frown deepens even more.

He does not guess, he _knows_.

Dexter shakes his head, rattling it to gain back some common sense. It is becoming more and more useless though. He can feel himself reverting back, his dark passenger; all that he accomplished, the acquirement of benevolent feelings, is slowly flying out the window. He has too much on. Vogel is asking too much of him.

He looks back up over at Deb, analysing her features, her smile, her joy, and his expression softens, as well as his pace.

"I'm sorry", Deb slows too, drawing away her attention from Harrison to his father, "did you say something Dex...?"

He stares at them stupidly.

"... Dex...?"

Flecks of gold in his irises and the ends of his hair reflect in the sunlight.

"Da-da?" Harrison asks giggling, playing his hand and Clarence through the strands of his mama's hair.

"Dexter...?" Deb takes a step towards him, making him snap out of whatever trance he was in, and much to Deb's growing annoyance, takes a step back.

"It's nothing", he mumbles, shoving his hands into his pocket, and avoiding their gazes.

* * *

_15:03_

He was supposed to be rendezvousing with, Zach, at 3:00. To admire each other blood splatter photographs, of all things.

Vogel's request, of course.

Some sort of induction or initiation he guessed. He still was unsure about the whole thing. Zach however, no matter how much Vogel said was like him, Dexter could not help feeling that he just was not, right.

Indeed, she was not always right.

He had had to save her from the hands of another one of her, 'successive', patients.

_He_ was apparently one of her succesive patients.

How long until he just ... flipped...?

"...I wonder if we should get him a tutor?" Dexter asks, distracted.

Deb is inspecting her reflection in the internal mirror. Her eyes are a bit red and a bit puffy, but then they quite frequently are this time of year, nearing the anniversary of her father's death. She shifts her gaze, so that it mirrors Dexter strapping Harrison into his car seat.

His face determined, and at the same time troubled.

She goes to answer, but falters...

They could be normal.

The thought makes her heart swell, it feels, larger than her ribcage can contain.

They _could_ be normal.

Harrison could be her son, and Dexter. Dexter, could be her husband...

His frown reaches her, and she realises he is still waiting for her answer.

Deb's mind races to try and remember what it was he asked her. "... Are you shitting in a tent right now?"

He narrows his eyes on her, and it does nothing to quench the fire burning in the hollows over her stomach, in fact, doing the opposite.

"It would be my luck that-", he mellows, shutting Harrison's door and moving round to the driver's side.

Deb turns around in her seatbelt to tickle one of Harrison's calves; he lets out a squeal of laughter.

"- that would be the word Harrison picks up", he continues. "-I don't think when", he belts himself in. "- Sister Eloise, said that we needed to work on advancing his vocabulary, she had that kind of language in mind".

Strapped in, he stills, and lets out a heavy full body sigh; he catches a glimpse of Deb in his peripheral, she is not listening to him, instead her attention is fixed on Harrison.

A troubled smile forms on his face.

They could be normal, he thinks.

They _could_ be normal, and no one none the wiser as to why not.

All he has to figure out his how.

How to get his family out of this hole.

Not into the light.

But into another, more protected hole.

He sighs deeply, catching Deb's attention.

"Hey...", she soothes, resisting the urge to place a gentle touch on his growing ginger bristles. It would only cause him further aggravation and then in turn her. And Harrison always has a knack of picking up on their combined... distress; reacting by going very silent and still, almost like a deer stuck in headlights.

"Will. You. Calm. The. F. Down?".

His hands twitch excitedly, causing a flurry to rush through her too.

To unknown passerbys, they would be normal.

* * *

_Wednesday  
__07:03_

"It's not fair -"

Deb has a pile of paper work to sign, a morning prep meeting to attend, a police officials meeting, and a conference on, Youth Crime in the Miami and Wider Miami Area, after a child killed five of his family members by poisoning their food – Joys.

"- Astor doesn't have to go to school and I do", Cody whines over his sogging cereal, his spoon twists dismally in his hands as he turns Cheerios from one side of the bowl to the other.

His manner has improved a lot since Dexter returned, but...

"I mean, I was in that accident too. Why is she always so God Damn special", he grumbles.

"Cody", Deb warns.

Leaning against a kitchen counter, she is closely watching Harrison attempt feeding himself. She is thankful that she made the decision to not dress him, as most of his breakfast has ended up on him not in his mouth. According to Sister Eloise, a child his age should have grasped the basic table manners

According to Sister Eloise, she and Dexter are too _coveting_ of him.

That they are not allowing him the space to grow.

Deb rolls her eyes.

Of course, Dexter, took it as if he had just been told that peanut butter was going out of produce - Although maybe in his case it would more be like if tranquilizer syringes suddenly went out of rotation.

Deb cocks her head to one side, suppressing her smirk. She is pretty certain a fairy has died somewhere for laughing at that.

"Can I go to Dexter's this evening?" Cody continues, looking up at her with hopeful puppy dog eyes.

"You know the rules, weekends only", she grabs a cloth to get a head start on the mess surrounding Harrison's high chair. Gritting her teeth whilst Cody lets out the longest, most annoying moan in protest.

"Cody", she warns, "eat your cereals you made me buy".

"But they're all soggy"

"Not my problem", she quips getting on her hands and knees - Just in time for a splodge of oatmeal to expertly fall from Harrison's spoon and land on her head.

"Fuck", she mutters and Cody snickers.

"Real mature, Cody", Astor condescends as she emerges out from the utility room, that was never actually a utility room, but a general dumping ground for Deb's things, and now her makeshift bedroom. The things once dumped, now expansively reside in a neatly stacked pile of boxes in a corner of Harrison's old bedroom at Dexter's; replaced by a pump up bed, and two book shelves, for Astor's clothes and stuff. More will have to be moved, a bigger space will need to be provided, which Deb knows that Dexter worries about more that he lets on. He has already given up the use of his 4x4 to Deb. But then in hind sight, that is the least of the worries.

Astor.

Since the accident, she has grown back into herself. Physically as well as emotionally, loosing the womanly curves she had gained, becoming again, that eleven year old girl who has just lost her mother.

"I'm sorry, _Princess Astor._ I didn't realise you had entered the room", Cody retorts over-opulently.

"Cody", Deb warns over the sink as she tries to wash out oatmeal from her hair.

"Here let me get on my hands and knees like everyone else and start kissing you stinking feet".

"Cody", Deb warns louder over the running water.

"What?!" he snaps, "it's like everyone is rewarding her, and forgotten that ...", he seeks Astor's face before glumly grumbling the the rest of his sentence to his cereal bowl. The last word, like a stage whisper, audible to everyone in the room.

"Co- "

But Deb's final warning gets drowned out by Astor's almighty scream, combined with her iPhone smashing against the floor, as she runs back to the room she came from, crying. Slamming the door shut behind her.

Deb turns furiously on Cody, who for a moment looks like he is deeply regretting his words, before his expression hardens.

"What...? I know, I'm the worst person in the world", he cries, tears falling down his face as he walks as proudly as he can to his and Harrison's room, "you should all just...", he hesitates, whether not quite finding his words or being lost to his loud sobs... His bedroom door slams behind behind him too.

Wide eyed and shocked over what just transgressed in that short minute, Deb turns to Harrison, who is looking back at her with the same shock.

After a moment though, his forehead plummets and his eyes start to twitch.

"Oh no- ", Deb quickly turns off the tap, but not in time to soothe Harrison, before he too erupts into howls.

The bungalow combusts.

* * *

_09:49_

"Deb?"

Dexter hovers outside her office.

His lips are in a smile, the one she is certain he uses especially for her.

His eyes staring quizzically at her, amusement in their shape, and something else...

He trails her appearance down and up.

Cleaning up the remnants of this morning's earlier fiasco, meant she arrived twenty minutes into the meeting, and instead of disturbing it, she decided to by-pass it entirely. But it seems like she has not entirely escaped...

The sight of him however, _oh so unaffected_ by what transgressed this morning makes Deb's blood boil.

She shuns past him, ignoring the involuntary flush from her riled up hormones. Her anger spiking when he jumps to move out of her way.

Shoving his hands in his pocket.

Taking that fucking extra precautionary step back.

She reaches for her keys –

"Uh, its already... open", Dexter admits apologetically.

She swallows down what she can only describe as heartburn. Slamming the office door shut in Dexter's face.

Breathing heavily, she collapses against the door, allowing her stuff to clatter on the floor.

Totally alone.

"... Uhm, ...Deb?" Dexter asks after a minute.

_Dexter._

"Fucking fuck off Dexter. Jesus shit, who do you have to fuck, to have one fucking moment of peace?!" She springs off the door and further into her office, "fuck fuck fucking fuck fuck, fuuuuuck", her fingertips massage her temples throughout her fuck fit.

"OK Deb, I'll give you a minute", Dexter calls through the door, and Deb removes one of her heels, launching it at her office door.

* * *

Deb abstains herself from her scheduled meetings, using her mound of paper work as an excuse. She keeps to the confines of her office for the majority of the day; feeling, in consideration of her current mood, it is probably the best place, for everyone.

Her phone vibrates.

Her eyes cast over it, the screen lights up:

13:42.

Harrison's pre-school...

Holding her breath, she answers it quickly.

"HelloisHarrisonOK?"

Deb squints to fully understand what the Sister is saying, when 'no' is not the first word coming from her lips.

"_What?" ... _"... No"

She squints again.

"I will be picking Harrison up, the same time I always pick him up – Fuck, D-", Deb slips out, and then puts a hand over her lips, "sorry – I'm sorry, that wasn't meant for you. Thank-you for telling me - bye".

* * *

Deb barges into Dexter's office five minutes later without knocking.

"What the fuck, Dexter?" she asks before the door is even open let alone closed. "Why in Jesus' name do I have the pre-school calling me to say that Jamie is picking up Dex – Harrison?".

She meets three other sets of startled eyes as well as the one she seeks.

It takes a while for Dexter to recover from her sudden outburst. Angel, Quinn and Masuka are still staring at her gobsmacked.

Dexter stands to usher him and Deb out the door.

"No, I don't feel like fucking moving", she folds her hands, standing her ground.

"Uhh..." Dexter is still somewhat stumped. He turns round to the men behind him who after a while, all stand as one and leave the room, mumbling pathetic reasons as to why they are _allowing_ her the room.

Fuck that – she is all their bosses, and what's more, their fucking shit terrified of her at the moment. The knowledge gives Deb a megawatt bolt-age of power, making her feel more confident over Dexter and their situation.

"Do you really want to talk about this, here?" he whispers, eyebrows raised to the max, leaning as close into her as he dares; which only fucks her more off.

"For fuck sake, Dexter", she grabs his loose elbow, pulling him in closer to her.

Their pelvis' collide into each other, sending a pang of heat though Deb, lips instantly wetting at the feeling.

Her now pebbled nipples brush above his chest, but her padded bra leaves Dexter none the wiser.

Her other lips brush against the button of his nose, and his in the indent of her chin.

Fuck her three inch heels.

The intimacy still wavers her whough.

She frowns - why is she angry with him again...?

All she knows is the heavy breathing, hot and laboured.

The strong magnetize of her pelvic to his.

Her chest to his.

Her lips to his.

As expected, he jumps back as if she has just burnt him.

Shoving his _fucking_ hands back into his_ fucking_ pockets.

He then proceeds to prowl around her in a semi circle, putting on a stern watchful eye on her, while he tries to compose himself and regain the upper hand.

Her eyes mirrors his.

She realises her chin feels damp, and wipes the moisture away with her fingertips.

She frowns, inspecting it.

Dexter's saliva ...?

The thought makes her smirk, as she refocuses her attention on his malecent pacing.

Eventually he frowns, lifting a hand to rub against his temple. A tell tale sign that he has forgotten what this disagreement was about.

"Jamie", she reminds.

He inhales deeply, like an animal, and nods.

His hand makes its way back to his temple.

"You were out of sorts this morning. Jamie is already watching Astor... I was only trying to help", he explains, a broken twang to his voice, imploring her to understand. "I'm sorry. I -", he rubs the back of his neck.

"Just because I am bent out of hell pissed off at you, does not mean I can't look after my- , Harrison", she growls.

"I know, I'm sorr-"

"He is my responsibility"

"I know, but he is mine too", he growls.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"_No-thing_", he exasperates, the back of his neck makes contact with his spine as he attempts to relieve some stress, and Deb feels almost sorry for him. "I'm sorry", he repeats.

Deb nods, and lets out a breath of tension.

Her eyes clock his computer screen.

"So why the fuck are Angel, Quinn and Masuka still breathing?" she asks, remembering her fear which with everything that has transgressed to thin air since, taking a definite back seat in a seven person car.

"Oh, it's ...", he trails off, focussing on a spot in the corner in the room, while he tries to find his words. "... It's nothing, you don't have to worry about them".

His eyes look up to her and find her squinting at the screen that Masuka forgot to close. He waltzes over to obstruct her view.

She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Then what the fuck where they doing on your computer that they couldn't tell me?"

"Its nothing, Deb", he repeats.

He is lying.

She raises her eyebrows up in disbelief, although why, she does not know. She is a fool to believe that this is even the fifth lie he has told her this week.

Crossing her hands, "oh yeah, then what is so fucking important that you have to hide for me?".

"Debra", his hands almost clench, temporarily distracting her attention. "Will you just trust me, its better that you don't know".

Deb frowns at his agonised hand.

No, she will not trust him.

But she will drop the subject; with everything else, it cannot be a worry.

"Cody needs to move in with you", she says, raising her attention back to his face.

"What?" Dexter asks, confused by the sudden change of subject.

"Cody. I, I can't handle him Dexter. He and Astor aren't mixing well together. I don't know if he blames her or something, but I swear, this morning, you missed the biggest fucking cry fest I have ever witnessed, and now I have the biggest fucking headache I have ever experienced".

"Cody was crying?" he asks, hurt.

"They were all bastard crying, Dexter", she flings her arms up in the air. "All of them. And it was just me. Me".

"I can get Ja-"

"It's not Jamie's help I want, Dexter!" she explodes, pinching the top of her nose as it soothes her. "Cody would be a lot happier if he was with you", she says, more controlled. "I don't know maybe its a boy, man thing... I know growing up after mom died, all I wanted was someone around who was female to talk to – actually all I wanted was someone to fucking talk too...", she mumbles. "Anyway, I'm no good for him".

"You are good enough for him", Dexter implores; his body twitches, as if he was going to embrace her and then changed his mind.

"No Dexter, I'm not", she wipes a stray tear; she didn't even realise she was getting upset over it, let alone crying.

He is silent, hands shoved in pockets, while Deb pulls herself together.

"Well, it's nearly the weekend, and they will all be out of your hair for a couple of days... ...I really appreciate what you are doing for me, Deb, for us - Did you really think that – I mean, after mom died?"

"Don't change the fucking subject Dex", she tires, exhausted all of a sudden. "You need to take him with you, you need to spend more time with him. Just like dad did".

"I can't do that, Deb"

"Why not?"

"I just ... cant"

"What the fuck are you hiding from me?" she exasperates.

"Nothing"

"So help me, Dexter, I'm the one at home looking after your fucking children"

"It's nothing", he assures.

"Dexter", she says very matter-of-factly, narrowing him into a corner of the room so he cannot move.

Even this distant closeness is enough to rile up her hormones, and they are not even touching.

He squirms and avoids her gaze.

His breathing getting heavier.

Their fingers brush in his discomfort.

Their eyes both glance down to their barely conjoined hands.

Both their breathing now, hot and heavy, against the others' chest.

He surprises her when he tightens his grip around hers.

Like he is clinging on to her.

Like he is afraid that she may fall.

And in fact he could not be closer to the truth.

"I have known you all my life", Deb continues, albeit breathlessly, against her thumping heart, "and although I, I, I might not know, why. That face your making. Tells me your lying", she disentangles herself from his pathetic grip on her, to return to her duties.

* * *

_Friday_  
_13:42_

There is a knock on Deb's office door.

"Come in".

Putting aside her paperwork, she holds her breath hoping its Dexter. They have not spoke since the office on Wednesday.

Masuka.

"Captain".

Ever since he witnessed hers and Dexters' confrontation, he has been oddly, polite.

"There is someone downstairs for Dexter".

"Dexter's in the field with Quinn and Angel", she frowns. He should have known that, seeing as they share an office together.

Masuka shrugs his lips, "that's what he said".

"He's not with them?"

"Apparently not".

Deb swallows in an attempt to still her rising heart beat. Surprisingly, over the anger of his lie, more so than the worry.

"Have you tried calling him?" she asks, reaching for her cell for any missed calls or texts from him.

None.

Her heart plummets.

What she would do for him to trust her.

For him to confide and seek solace in her.

"He's not picking up", Masuka informs.

She frowns and nods her head, sighing deeply. Her previous feelings change to anguish, tears start to form in her eyes, from the depths of her fracturing heart.

"...Deb...?"

"Huh", she raises her blurring gaze, "no", she clears her throat, "I don't know where he is", she says sorrowfully.

"OK, I'll get out of your way then...", but he hesitates for a few moments before he actually makes a move to leave.

"... Masuka?" Deb asks as she hears the office door close.

"Who is it?"

"What?"

"Looking for Dexter"

"Oh", he smirks, "some hot blonde chick".

* * *

_21:05_

Despite the building waves of the fetch, they rock silently once it reaches the shores outside Deb's bungalow. Tireless from their peril journey, they are silent, but nowhere near peaceful.

Deb lays flat out on her sofa in the cramped living room, emersed in the bomb site of children's bric-a-brac, sticky finger surfaces and general uproar of her shit, that has become her house, her life. She can feel the boomerang that she has told, Cody, countless of times, not to throw in the house - but persistently does, digging into the alcove of her right hip, but she can not be arsed to do anything about it. Empty beer bottles and one half empty one rest by her finger tips.

Content.

Sedated is possibly the better word.

She hears silent, guarded foot prints enter her house, followed by a heavy sigh.

Dexter.

Deb holds her breath, if she is quiet, maybe he will mistake her for being asleep and fuck off.

Or passed out, and give her the kiss of life.

Regardless, he is the last person she wants to talk too.

The beer bottles rattle as he goes to clear them up first, the half-empty bends her finger as it brushes past her.

"Deb. ... Deb...", he repeats, "Deb, I know you are awake". She hears him pad over to the sink and drain her beverage before putting it to join the others by the front door, the glass clinks. He walks back over to her.

"Deb", he shakes the ankle of her still heeled foot from dropping the kids of at Dexter's. Of course, it was Jamie who was at home, not him.

She kicks his hand back.

"Will you please just fuck off Dexter", she says groggily.

"Deb. Pigs live better", he says over his mortification of the state of the house, his eyes gaze over the living room again worryingly.

"Your fucking kids", she mumbles, readjusting her pounding head.

"Deb, I am being serious. You need to let Jamie help you or something-".

Deb reaches for a cushion, placing it over her head to drown out his voice.

"Deb!" He harshly snatches the cushion from her, and she throws a kicking fit.

"FUCK OFF DEXTER!" she cries. "Leave me the fuck alone, I have nothing to say to you".

Her foot continues its attack.

"Deb, I thought we were passed this".

The heel catches his upper thigh, very close to the side in which he is hung.

It catches him again.

"Deb"

Again.

He has to bite back his anger.

"Deb"

Again.

He grabs her ankle.

"What?!" she shouts, stilling her feet.

"I thought we over this. I thought you no longer hated me".

Deb buries her face into the sofa, "I don't hate you, that is the problem. I love you", she screams into the material.

"I love you too", he says earnestly.

She lifts her head, turning, and narrows her eyes on him, her face tired and strained.

"Totally different degrees", she dead pans, and then laughs cynically. "Love me", she laughs, "you can't even fucking touch me. Or, or, stand to be in the same one metre space as me". She turns her head back into the sofa, "Fuck, how I wish I didn't".

His grip on her slackens to her heel.

He is silent for a long time.

"You can't be in love with me. I am a monster".

Deb snorts, "you're right Dexter, now would you kindly please fuck off".

Through the constraint of his grip, she kicks his upper thigh again for added emphasis.

"... Dexter", she warns, turning to glare at him when he does not let up of his hold.

His grip hardens, encircling her ankle once again.

"Dexter!"

His lips purse, determined.

"I was so angry", he admits sorrowfully, sounding like a child. " ... When I found out you took him. You have to understand, I didn't realise where he was. One moment he was there, in my car, and the next he was gone. I thought ... I thought, I don't know what I thought, but I never thought that you, my sister would take him from me like that".

"And yet, if you did what every other fucking person would have done and went to the police. You would have found him straight away".

Dexter frowns.

"I never thought it would be that easy. Not for me. I thought ...", he trails off too muteness, distant, in contemplation. He stares down at his grip on her ankle,"I'm afraid to touch you, I'm afraid of hurting you again".

"At least you were showing emotion", she mumbles in his silence.

"You _liked_ me hurting you?", he quizzes, drawn out of his trance, sudden and undivided intrigue in his voice.

"Yes", she says sarcastically, "the bruises complemented my skin".

She starts kicking again.

Catching, everywhere between his knee to upper thigh.

He soundlessly allows her to assault him, his rage inwardly screaming, until, suddenly -

"LOOK", he shouts, bolting both ankles harshly and yanking her towards him in his capped anger; the suddenness and harshness takes her by surprise, tearing both a stomach and back muscle, her tibiae and femurs strained painfully by her knee and leg sockets.

But she does not let up. Her limbs reacting furiously, like a free bird, newly caught and resisting her cage.

"I'm touching you", he yanks her harshly again, raising her slightly in the air, again bruising her back.

"Isn't this-" again,

"what", again,

"you want".

Yank.

"Dexter! Stop!" she cries, this time in loud in pain, "your hurting me", she screams through her tear streaked face.

He lets go instantly, his heavy breathing filling the room.

Breathe in.

Out.

Breathe in.

Out.

Breathe in.

He shags the back of his back curls, still damp from his shower.

"I'm sorry", he says eventually, his breathing still ragged. "The last thing... I want to do ... is hurt you... or make you cry. But that is all I seem to do", he ruffles his curls again and steals a glimpse at her, but she has hidden her face back in the sofa.

Her work clothes are all disheveled though...

Her navy blue work shirt has become untucked...

Her plaited bun, disarrayed, loose and tumbling down her back...

Pink, flustered, unintended skin is exposed; a half moon of her upper back, where the collar is loose.

The mid of her sturdy back; her bone structure prominent. Despite the weight gain, he could still...

Thumb... across her defined rib cage.

Her two dark brown beauty spots, either side of her spine...

Waiting, to be ... worried, to be kissed better.

Lastly. The tops of her legs, where her nude pencil skirt rims the cups of her ass.

Assaulted.

Broken.

By his own hand.

He, who is supposed to love and protect her.

Especially after all she has done and is doing for him.

"All I came to see", he almost cries, "was if you were OK".

"Great fucking comfort you are", she mumbles eventually.

"Yeah ... I'm ..."

He pauses so long that Deb turns to see why, perching on her right elbow.

She sees him standing erect in the middle of room, his head facing the heavens as he tries to contain tears.

"...Dex?" she whispers, nervous.

"I don't know what I am doing anymore Deb-".

He is crying.

And it stops Deb short, her elbow wobbles slightly, surprised.

"I don't know who I am. I don't ... I don't ...", he swallows, containing himself.

He stops.

Breathes in.

Out.

"I have to go", he says eventually, and in a recovered even tone. "I have somewhere I have to be", he reaches into his pocket to produce a folded envelope, and she sits up, straightening out her clothes.

He holds it out to here,

She stares at it, unaware and apprehensive as to what is inside.

"Our DNA test. We're not related".

Deb scoffs albeit the relief, "was this some sort of peace offering", taking the envelope none the less.

"Yes", he hisses, his eyes narrowing on her before leaving.

"Dexter?" she asks when she hears him trying the door.

He silently waits for her question.

"Is she the reason why Cody can't stay with you?" she asks timidly.

"No", he implores, "until you called, I did not know she was here. She's moved on Deb, she has a husband..."

"Well that's nice, everything turned out so easy for her", Deb grumbles, burying her heavy head in her palms, "what is she doing here then?" her sound distort through her fingers.

"She's just having some trouble".

"And she needs your help?"

"Yes. It's my fault".

Deb's hands slap to her sides, making Dexter turn. "Well if you got to go, you gotta go", she chuckles.

"What's funny?" he asks, confused.

"Again, its nice, she asks for your help and you come running. What a peachy fucking life she leads".

"Deb", Dexter implores, "if you are ever in trouble and need my help, all you need to do is ask", he says in all seriousness.

Water builds in Deb's eyes again, she smiles and gestures to out to the disjointed room, and by extension, herself. As if to say, 'ta-da'! Is any cry for help actually needed.

"If you want me to stay Deb, all you have to do is ask", he husks, a darkness to his voice that she finds alluring.

Her eyes narrow on him.

"Lie down", he orders.

She looks at him, hesitantly.

"Lie down", he orders again, more directly, turning to lock the door.

She lowers herself vertically on the sofa, lying on her back, her stomach fluttering. Her eyes cautiously watch him as he prowls over, her heart racing a million miles an hour. He perches cautiously at the edge of the sofa, near her feet. Slipping off her work heels, he starts to massage her feet.

Like her last massage, his touch is again hard and rough.

Feeling each indent of his fingerprints, fondling her skin.

Enticing her.

"Tell me to leave and I'll go", he hisses, tantalizingly sinister.

She does not want to give him the satisfaction, or degrade herself lower then she already feels ... but ...

The much longed for beyond enticing touch is much more wonderous then she remembered.

She closes her eyes, her head arches back and she and lets out a low gravely moan - biting her lip instantly afterwards. Afraid that she will once again, push him away.

But her eyes find a sort of amused smirk, and with hooded eyes never leaving hers, he lifts up her leg and gently kisses the sole of her foot.

Light butterfly kisses from heel to toe.

"Tell me", he hisses lower.

Her lower lips salivate.

He quickly removes the other high heel and does the same.

A hand then cups the side of her strong upper thigh, massaging the length up and down.

She breathlessly lets out another few short quiet moans.

"Just one, short word"

The other hand does the same to the other thigh, gasping as this time his lips attack her with light kisses, while he massages the length up and down.

Her arousal is practically dripping between her legs, and is put off by the fact that she is sure he can smell it. She clenches, in an attempt to stop anymore flowing.

He inhales deeply, "Say it ... I know you want to ... Give in".

The kisses and the massaging hands stop, and she is about to give in when his hands both reach out to grab the backs of her thighs, gently edging her closer towards him.

She knows his intent as he nestles her legs either side of him.

She wants to protest...

His eyes harden on her and her short gasps of air stop.

He lowers his face.

His lips trace her calf skin and she shudders.

He hardens his grip on her.

Squeezing the temptuos curves of fat that have started to collect below her buttock.

Then his tongue.

She can not hold her breath any longer, and lets in a sharp intake of breath.

When she looks back down, he has broken his eye contact to and his smelling her skin.

Kissing, smelling, and licking it so often, lulling her. At the same time, his hands fondle her upper thighs, inching higher slowly, millimetre by millimetre, closer to her ass.

"Xxxxsssss", she hisses something unintelligable, pleading, not recognising her own voice.

"Is that you asking me to leave?" he pauses.

"Stay", she manages.

And he does not make her wait any longer.

His fingers deftly grabbing the waist of her bunched up work skirt, and quickly pulling it off her body and onto the floor, taking her panties with her.

All of a sudden she is very embarrassed.

And cold.

Very cold.

She attempts to cover herself from him.

"No!" he orders, grabbing her wrists, and she stills instantly.

"Don't", he says in a much softer voice, "don't hide from me", he leans over and nuzzles her skin, inhaling her scent deeply.

She does not dare to make eye contact with him, but she nods to the side timidly.

She feels his weight move off her, hears his shirt being taken off, and her eyes quickly turn to revel at his upper torso.

Despite the weight loss, still toned, defined, and sturdy.

His muscles flex, and she has to clench again.

His hands gently prise open her legs...

... bringing her even more forward.

He moves and nestles his face in the strip of dark curls that she leaves unshaven.

Nuzzling his nose again against her flesh, inhaling deeply.

She thinks she may quite possibly die of mortification.

He blows against her lower lips, making her shudder.

"Trust me ", he implores, before lowering his face further and prizing her folds open with his tongue.


	9. Pieces Unjumbling

**_So this chapter is loooong. I'm warning you now, I don't know why, because I don't think a lot happens. Just really descriptive scenes ;) Actually it is the same word count as my undergrad dissertation. I wish it had taken me as quick as it had taken me to beast out this 10K_**

_Four days later ..._

Pieces Unjumbling: Like King, like Pawn.

_March 9th  
Tuesday_

_09:41_

She is wearing the underwear he left out for her.

She watches Dexter's mouth move, but she does not pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth.

She watches to glimpse the end of his strong, long, pink, oh so satisfyingly important muscle as he talks.

Remembering how it sloshes.

The way his teeth catch on his bottom lip as he pronounces certain words.

Remembering how they nip.

Her gaze trails down to his long, sturdy, fingers. Expressive as he talks, but like his tongue, and teeth, oh so satisfying.

The tools of his trade.

They had made her come, hard and painfully quick. Sending her head and eyes back, white dots twinkling through pitch blackness of her vision.

His cell phone had summoned him somewhere, but he had waited long enough to drink all that her orgasm had to repay him with. Slurping hungrily, his tongue sloshing roughly against her sex, long after she had been drained.

He had not given her anything else though since...

Her eyes trail down to the slight bulge in the crotch of his dark brown combat trousers, and she has to recross her legs, absently straightening the hem of her navy blue pencil skirt.

He had not given her what she desperately wanted, wants.

Again, he acts as if nothing happened.

Her troubled gaze, raises again to admire the movement of his mouth.

Mind numbing.

She thinks of another word to describe the feelings, experiences that have been playing round in his mind like a favourite record. But the artist needs to give her a new track to play.

His tongue languidly licks the extense of his bottom lip.

She clenches, letting out a short breathy sigh. Her hand skirts the back of her V necked white work shirt, to fan her flustered skin.

Two of Dexter's fingers come to rub against his bottom lip.

He momentarily parts them into a V.

His tongue again licks the bottom of his lip, catching one of his V'd fingers.

Slowly emerging back into reality and the morning meeting they are both attending about a new homicide case. Woman, mid-thirties, found dead in a parking garage. Deb frowns, raising her gaze to Dexter's knowing smirk. Which, although in the direction of, Masuka, and the other far left listeners, actually listening to what he has to say about the blood work pattern. His actions were definitely directed at her.

Bastard.

* * *

_10:01_

Still flustered by Dexter's indirect assault of her hormones, Deb is exiting the lift, eyes down, when she bumps into a form.

Of course, male.

Dark washed jeans.

"Hey, slow down there, Rookie".

She smiles over his now affectionate nickname for her.

Winslop.

"I was just looking for you", he smiles handsomely at her when she lifts her gaze to him. "Wondered if you managed to dig up that information I asked you for?".

"Yes, come", she ushers him back in the direction of her office.

Unlocking the door, "I was going to just email it to you, but, seeing as your here", she unlocks one of the draws behind her desks, retrieving her laptop, "I will just print it out".

He waits silently for her while she prints out his requested documents.

She, unaware that he is intently watching her every move.

"Here", she hands them over to him when they have printed.

He glances through the eight pages and she smiles coyly at him, crossing her arms in shameful triumph over the effect she knows she has on him.

"You know, you could have emailed me", she muses.

He glances up at her, flashing one of his panty soaking smiles, twinkling his impossibly blue entrancing eyes, and gawfs. The documents totally forgotten. "Well, I did want to know whether you wanted to join me for lunch. Or now that the dream team has let you back in their circle, are you going to pretend you never knew the ugly zit face teenager".

Deb smacks his arm playfully – his shirt is the same colour as his eyes, "you were never an ugly, zit face, teenager".

He raises her eyebrows up at her.

"OK, maybe you had lots of zits, but you were never ugly, you were very handsome... Still are", she breathes out frowning, wondering where that confession came from.

He smiles at her knowingly and she avoids his gaze embarrassed.

But he lets her stew.

"OK!" she explodes finally, her tightly crossed arms too. "So I told you looked good. What are we in tenth grade?"

"Actually, I was just waiting to hear your answer about lunch".

* * *

_10:11_

Deb frowns worryingly at the frowned, stern expression, Dexter, directs at her on entering her office.

His lips pursed into a thin line.

Quinn also wears a frown, but then, Quinn, is not the one she is gagging to take her across this nicely polished mahogany desk of hers.

"Well, I'll take one guess what this is about", Quinn glums, pissed off.

Deb finally averts her attention from Dexter, who is not giving up anything as to why he is suddenly pissed off with her, to her ex - who she slept with maybe a month ago – could that be why Dexter is annoyed at her? Has Quinn told him something?

Her heart panics. She shoots Quinn a glaring look, and he loosens his frown at her slightly. Before sending a pleading stare at Dexter.

But his frown only gets deeper, and his mouth thinner.

"Deb", Quinn breaks their silence, but neither Deb nor Dexter breaks their locked stare. "What is this about?"

"I don't know", Deb says finally, reverting her attention back to Quinn, "you tell me?"

"Look that kid, Zach, is a Fuck Wad", Quinn explodes. "I know he did it, you know he did it, we all know he fucking did it. Yet because of crass, fucking, shite, bureaucracy. He is walking free. And whose to say when the Son of a Bitch is going to hit again".

"Jose Riviera, Norma Riviera's hu-"

"That's horseshit and you know it!" Quinn bellows over Deb's retort. "I mean", he lets out a melancholy laugh, "who the fuck are we working for. Who the fuck am I working with", he laughs again in disbelief, "we're supposed to be _law enforcement"_, he gestures speech marks with his hands, "but really we're no better than a fucking multi billion dollar business, who is selling to the highest bidder. Take that fucking dead high schooler- "

"Quinn", Dexter warns, pressing his lips even thinner.

Deb jumps, not only over the terseness of Dexter's voice, but forgetting that he was also in the room with them.

Her eyebrows worry; he has never brought this side of him into work.

But Quinn's aggravation is too far.

"What?!" he snaps, mimicking the state of a drunk on a rant. " 'Hero of Homicide' cases, Macho Dexter Morgan, hiding behind his fake smile and donuts, pretends to give a shit, but really he does not give a flying fuck about anything but himself!"

Deb sees Dexter's fist clench, and now it is her turn to warn Quinn.

"Quinn"

But he ignores her warn, and takes a threatening step closer to Dexter, so he is standing right up in Dexter's face.

Dexter snarls, his benevolent defence mechanism obviously not kicking in, and Deb rushes around her desk to pull Quinn away.

Quinn does not resist, obviously also shocked by Dexter's response, and allows himself to be pulled away.

Breathing heavily, Quinn mutters, "I know things about you, Dexter Morgan. You don't even deserve to be in this room, taking heat for your half-assed efforts". He yanks himself free from Deb's looped clutch, but by the way she has entwined her arms with his, her gets harshly stuck, and she lets out a groan in pain.

Before either of them both know it - Dexter has Quinn's shirt locked in one of his fist.

His teeth snarling.

Quinn's spare hand grabs hold of Dexter's tightly clenched fist, as if pushing him to go further.

Deb's heart, stops and starts disjointedly, whilst they remain in this deadlock...

Eventually, Dexter loosens his grip, and Quinn pushes himself away.

Carefully detangling himself from Deb, "fuck the Sergent's job, give it to Miller. You take your high paid Captain's salary, Debra", he addresses her calmly and Deb's heart sinks with shame, "but remember, its laced with blood. I won't let threats stop me from doing my job". He grits his teeth, giving Dexter one last glare before storming out the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Did he hurt you?" Dexter asks, not altering his voice to a more placid tone like would be expected.

Deb just shakes her head numbly while Dexter reaches for her assaulted arm to massage it, but his thumbs dig in heavily.

She lets in a sharp in take of breath through her teeth, and he immediately makes his touch more gentle.

His eyes focus on the movements of his fingers against her skin. "I don't like people hurting my things", he mumbles gruffly; his voice ... so animalistic, and so ... unlike, Dexter.

"... But I'm not a thing, Dexter", she whispers, worriedly; her troubled eyes watching his face.

"He shouldn't have touched her!" he snaps.

Deb's startled eyes scan the room, to confirm what she already knows; there is no one in the room but the two of them.

His massaging stops, but his grip on her forearm tightens. Deb however, is too worried and confused to react.

He shakes his head, agitatedly, from side to side, "will the two of you just leave me alone!" he snaps again, tugging her arm in his outburst.

They are now almost nose to nose.

She can feel his heavy breathing against her face.

The faint scent of his after shave.

Although impossible, the heavy thumping of his heartbeat.

But he is not looking at her.

He is consulting someone else.

Slowly, and with hesitations, Deb brings up her hand to his face, her fingertips pad lightly against his frown.

He goes silently still.

Her heart races one hundred miles an hour, but not in the good way, nervous over his reaction.

But then, he leans into her touch, into her palm, breathing in her touch and scent... She even feels his lips pucker slightly, placing a gentle kiss.

"Sometimes, I don't know how I would get by without you", he whispers.

And it is so honest.

So unlaced of grandeur that she might believe it.

But it will not move the worrying frown from her face.

"Dexter...", she wobbles.

"- What was Winslop doing here? I saw him walking away from your office", he asks calmly, still nuzzling his face against her palm.

She is perplexed by his affection; it is so unlike him, and yet what she wants.

So, why question it ...?

It feels so odd? – Wonderfully odd, but still odd.

He humms, and she remembers she has not answered his question.

"I am doing some PI work for him..."

"What PI work?" he demands, abruptly, removing his face from her palm.

It stays suspended in the air, missing his touch, before crumpling to her side.

"Just some PI work".

Dexter's eyes narrow on her, and Deb's cheeks rouge.

He and Winslop have never gotten on. Even when they were children.

"... And he asked me out to lunch".

His face sours.

Although not showing her triumph, she walks back round to her desk, with a slight skip in her step. Busying her frazzled attention by flicking through already signed and enveloped paperwork.

"Zach Hamilton", she risks a glance up. Dexter's face still resembles death, and she has to suppress a smirk. "You and Quinn need to stop your surveillance, he is getting his lawyers involved... what was going on between you and Quinn earlier?"

"Nothing", he replies, almost robotic and she rolls her eyes. "Let me take you for lunch".

She raises her eyebrows and her gaze at Dexter's wooden, and still unimpressed expression.

"_You_ have time?" she asks, jokingly, choking on a laugh.

"Yes", he hisses, "I'll meet you at the parking garage at one", he mumbles before slumping out her office.

She watches him leave, the heavy footsteps of his military boots.

His dark brown muscle shirt, the same hue as his eyes.

His standard kill attire...

He is not even trying to fit in anymore.

* * *

_13:04_

Deb stares, perplexed, at the protective hand encompassing her knee cap, the fingers slightly splayed.

She has no pantyhose on, and her skirt skims her lower thigh.

So it is just his touch on her exposed skin.

His hand is warming - or more so burning, but her skin feels sticky and claustrophobic.

Her stomach is all twisted in nots, and she is finding it difficult to breathe easily.

The dull ache in the depths of her lower stomach in still present, but she cannot help feeling, help feeling ... nervous...? Or for a more truthful word, scared.

Dexter's eyes are fixed on the road, but he must feel her nervousness as he starts to soothingly stroke her thigh.

Apprehension is lost. The knots start to unwind; it is as if she can almost feel her breasts bubble to a cup size bigger; and a thick sticky liquid starts to flow, dampening her panties.

"Relax", he orders, giving her knee one more squeeze before stopping his movements.

She nods to the traffic out front.

Yep, she feels much more relaxed.

* * *

_13:08_

"So, where are we going for lunch?" Deb asks, when she realises she does not know.

"I thought we could pick up, Harrison and Astor-"

Ah, Harrsion _and_ Astor.

Of course, he would be inviting the kids in on their lunch.

She shifts uncomfortably underneath his touch, and then recrosses her legs, so that his hand falls to her side.

" - and maybe go to the beach. Get a bite to eat there...?" he asks, turning his gaze to her for the first time. He frowns quizzically at her, an amused smile on his lips. "You don't approve?" he muses.

"No. Love the kids. It's just ... I can't be more than an hour for lunch. I have a meeting with Matthews at two".

"Tom won't mind if you are a bit late".

She snorts.

"What?" he asks.

"_Tom?_"

"He told me to call him that"

"And you are?"

"Yes", he says, in all serious. Taking his eyes off the road again to study her.

She shrugs, smiling.

* * *

_13:11_

Deb recrosses her legs, deciding that she misses Dexter's touch.

He flashes her a wicked smile.

His hand is still left abandoned by her side, and a finger prods her thigh wantingly, before he clears his throat and joins it with the other hand on the steering wheel.

Fucker.

* * *

_13:13_

They arrive outside Dexter's apartment. He pulls up the hand brake and they sit in silence for a few minutes.

"Maybe it will be nice, if it is just you, me and Astor...?" he asks her.

She nods, smiling, "yeah, that will be nice", she affirms genuinely.

"OK", he says, breathing in, and then stepping out the BMW.

He is back in two minutes.

With no Astor.

But wearing the face of death.

"What happened?" Deb asks, over the hood of her car, after unbuckling and bolting out the passenger door.

"Dex?" she asks over his frown and pursed lips, as he walks angrily into the car.

"There has been a change of plan", he mutters through gritted teeth; belting himself in and turning on the engine. Leaving her no other choice than to do the same.

* * *

_13:14_

"Dex?!" Deb asks angrily after they have been sat in silence for over one minute.

Dexter glares angrily at his phone, but he lifts his gaze to her. Now apologetic and apprehensive.

"I'm sorry. I have to go"

"Is Astor, OK?"

"Yes, she's fine. But I, I have to go"

_Oh._

Deb crosses her arms.

Her nostrils flare.

Her teeth grit.

"Where are you going?" she mutters out, after she has calmed down the rage that surged through.

Dexter refocuses his attention on his phone, and shakes his head.

Deb nods her head and purses her lips...

She manages to hold her boiling anger in for ten seconds or so before she cannot any longer.

"FU-"

But her rant is lost in Dexter's mouth, as he pulls her over roughly from the V of her shirt to swallow her rage in his mouth.

Uncomfortable by the angle, Deb is rigid at first, but slowly melts into his kiss.

Still clutching the material of her shirt, Dexter pulls her over until she is straddling him.

The movement is not fluid, and Deb is sure that she will have at least have bruises on her ankle, knee and one on her shin. She also has no room to sit on his lap properly, without being in danger of sitting on the car's horn.

But Dexter moves the driver's seat back, and at the same time she slips off her heels.

Should they be doing this in a car, outside his apartment complex...? The thought mildly crosses her mind, but she does not even register it check out.

She goes to sit, but he stops her; instead bringing her in closer by her buttox, so that her sex is flush against his abdomen, and her breasts in his face.

The bra he picked out gives her an impressive enough cleavage, and he nuzzles his face into the soft skin; his nose trailing, bathing in her scent and her smell. He places a few light butterfly kisses, before lifting the shirt from the confines of her skirt and pulling it over her head.

Her hands get tangled near the roof of the car, and they laugh.

His deep bite however, into the soft flesh of her breast brings her back.

She gasps, not over the pain but the suddenness; her gasp soon turns into mewls, craving for more.

He does not disappoint as his tongue, darts its way underneath the black lace material, to please her left nipple.

Already taut, he clutches it between his teeth, bringing it out from its confines.

He sucks hungrily on it, and her mewls turn into deep throated moans.

One of Dexter's hands reaches between her legs and massages the already collected wetness through the lace of her matching black panties.

"Ngh... fuck", she moans.

Deb realises she still has her aviators on and tosses them off her face.

She then realises that her panties have been lowered, and two of Dexter's thick fingers have entered her.

Leisurely pumping her in and out.

He adds his thumb to massage her clit, and she bucks appreciatively against his movements.

His fingers start to pick up their pace, and her moans get louder.

She drops one of her hands supporting herself on his shoulder to stop his movements.

Her breast drops out of his mouth.

Still warm, from his hot sloshing saliva, supple, from his massaging tongue.

"What?" he asks, his fingers still pumping her...

...deep ...

... and ...

... out ...

... deeper ...

... and ...

... out ...

"Nghh... ahhh", she says through her teeth.

"I'm sorry", he laughs, his fingers picking up their speed once again. "I don't know what that means".

Her hand reaches between them to the bulge at the crotch of his pants.

His movements halt, and he retracts his fingers from inside her. Bringing them up for her to suck on them, which she does hungrily.

"I don't have anything, do you?" he asks, analysing her sucking in memorisation.

She shakes her head, popping out his fingers so she can talk.

She falters when she sees him then suck hungrily on his fingers.

Hungrily on _her_ combined arousal and saliva.

"No...", she says breathlessly, "but I promise... we are... OK".

She is already unbuttoning his combat trousers, reaching underneath his boxers for his glorious, ready and erect cock.

Both lips salivate at the sight of it, and on shaky knees moves to kneel before him.

But he stops her, "no. Another time", he breathes heavily.

She nods, scrabbling back up, and before he can say anything, she lowers herself on to him.

They watch the others face in an almost childlike wonderment as her lips are parted by his cock, as she edges further down his cock. As she stills and rises again to give her muscles time to stretch and accommodate him again. As they come to the hilt; she seethes, and he moves to capture her discomfort with his mouth, shoving his tongue down her throat, so she can suck hungrily on it.

Impaled.

After a while he grabs both her ass cheeks through her skirt material, lifting her to the near head of his cock and then slamming her back down.

Unlatching her mouth from his, "urgh...Fuck!" she mumbles through gritted teeth, biting hard on her lip. Her head lolling back.

And so proceeds... picking up the pace... until he has her slamming relentlessly onto him... he comes inside her with a deep growl, some of it spilling out of her as he continues his determined pace.

... She is not far... But then he quickly stops, to adjust their position - once again capturing and locking her lips with his - and then growling, as he ups their pace by bucking his hips wildly into hers...

Sometimes, there is a fine line between pain and pleasure.

And it's not until she has exploded over him, that she is certain it is euphoric.

Normally quite silent during sex, she cannot help the drawn out swear word that escapes her mouth, as more sticky moisture seeps out of her and down her legs.

Although Deb's, past exhausted; Dexter continues his pursement of her, until he to finds his closure again, muttering obscenities unknown to any language, adding to the off-white palette collecting around Deb's sex.

Heavy breathed, and slightly relieved, Deb collapses on to him. Her sweaty cheek resting dismally against his. She is pretty sure she is dribbling, and all of a sudden, notices how hot the car is, hotter then hell hot.

Spent.

Too spent to do anything about it, or ask him to do anything about it. She could quite happily fall asleep against him as they are now.

She feels him pull out of her, and spurts of liquid flows out of her. He fixes her panties and nipple back in place, and like a rag doll, pulls her shirt back on to her, buttoning the middle button.

He then lifts her face up with his palm so that she is looking at him. He pushes away sweaty stray strands of hair from her face, and thumbs her eyebrow, before looking long and deep into her eyes.

She notices how his pupils are almost non existant. And his irises, a beautiful fall amber. His lips move, and she has to concentrate on them to hear what he is saying.

" - can't tell you where I am going", he whispers hoarsely, "I need you safe. OK?"

She nods numbly against his palm.

* * *

_Wednesday_

_13:21_

"Earth to Morgan"

Startled, Deb looks up from her chicken ceaser salad lunch, that she has been unashamedly been grinning smugly into for the last ... two ...? Three...? Minutes. It could be longer for all she knows because all she has been thinking about is Dexter.

She had always guessed that he would be an intense lover, but the intensity of this love ...

She closes her eyes, as a flurry of excitement waves through, adding to the dull pang between her thighs.

She shifts excitedly, as she remembers him slamming her against the wall in the hotel room; the moment where she exploded by the work of his deftly fingers; him altering their position in her BMW, so that he could enter her harder and faster.

Glad that it happened in her car not his.

"A penny for your thoughts", a cent is tossed in her direction.

"Unless you want to spend a penny", another.

Deb finally leaves her day dream to meet the smiling handsome face of Winslop, with those encaptivating blue eyes.

"What is whirling between the cogs of your mind?" he asks seductively, leaning in.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teases, mimicking his actions.

"So, you going to tell me why you ditched me for lunch yesterday".

"Uhmmm", a very visual image of Dexter's ecstatic contorted face flashes through her mind, as he lowered her up and down his cock, their smell, the feel of his large hands digging into her ass, the sound of their laboured breathing.

She smiles.

And so does he.

She rattles her head for clarity.

"Uhm, one of the kids, needed me last minute".

Winslop leans back smiling, raising his arms in the air as he stretches, "that's right. Your brother dumped his children on you? What are their names?"

"He did not dump", Deb corrects, "I took them willingly", slight offence in her voice, before going to nibble on some of her lettuce. She just does not have the appetite for food today.

Winslop raises his hands up in apology.

"Well if your fine with him taking advantage of you, I guess I shouldn't".

"He is not-", she smiles, as another flash memory from the car races through her mind, " – taking _advantage_ of me", she suppresses her smirk, "I actually like being a mom".

"Is that what they call you?"

"The youngest does"

"Right Ed ..."

"Harrison", she corrects.

"Right, after your father".

"And the other two are called ..."

"Astor and Cody".

"Cute names".

She shrugs, "I didn't pick them".

"So, what is _Dexter_ doing", Deb smiles at the slight spiteness in his voice, "while you are busy running homicide and raising his children".

Deb loads a forkful of salad and chicken into her mouth, while she thinks about her answer.

"Working, in his lab and in the field ..."

"So, he is home for the kids in the evening?"

She lies, nodding. "Well", she says through a piece of chicken, "he does lots of extra work, at the moment, actually. The Norma Riviera case, and then that high schooler case we all worked on".

"But tha- those cases have been closed?" he reminds her, not missing a beat.

"I don't know", she shrugs, taking a sip of water, "he thinks something is up with them"

"How so?" he queries further.

"Fuck, would I know", she laughs, "he does not tell me Jack".

"Actually", she digs into her salad more, suddenly famished, "maybe it's something you could help him with?" she asks hopefully.

"... Maybe...?"

* * *

_Thursday_

_00:41_

Deb feels sturdy hands grab her ankles underneath her sheet.

The sensation of being dragged, down her bed's soft cotton sheets.

The sound of her streamlining across the fabric.

Her knees are rested on the ground, and the hands massage their way up to her buttox.

"Fuck off, Dexter", she mumbles groggily into the sheets.

He pushes up her – his t-shirt up and bunches it round her waist. Grabbing the waist band of her panties and pulling them down, they bunch around her knees. He then praises her ass with light nips and kisses, fondling the supple skin.

"Your not angry with me, are you Debra?" he husks, inserting one of his fingers into her vagina.

She moans appreciatively and he adds another one, already picking up his speed.

"Fuuuck", she turns her head to the side, before tensing immediately.

"What's the matter?" Dexter asks, placing a bite on her ass, after he notices resistance. He adds his thumb to massage her clit and widens her opening further by slapping his fingers from side to side.

"Ahh, Dexter, stop", she says flustered.

He slows, "what is it?" concerned.

"Harrison, Harrison", she manages, "he is asleep in the bed with me".

"Oh?" Dexter says understanding, and stands, "that's OK, I will just deposit him into his own bed", he solves.

"Wash your fucking hands first, Dex", she disgusts.

Still knelt over the bed, she watches him exit her bedroom, enter it, and exit it again with a sleeping Harrison.

She plops her panties back on and gets back under the covers to try and get back to sleep.

But Dexter has other plans.

She feels his hand trail up her nightshirt, as he lowers himself back on her bed. A peck captures her back, and she realises he must have sheded his t-shirt.

Resisting her hormones, she shuffles further away from him. "I'm serious, Dex", she removes his hand, "I'm not in the mood".

"And why is that?" he asks, raising her shirt sleeve and pressing light kisses on to it.

His fingers dance up the side of her naked leg, and she nudges them away.

"Well, if I have to tell you why, I am most definitely not in the mood", she grumbles, inching further away from him.

Dexter sighs deeply, resting his forehead on her back.

He breathes in.

"You smell of me", he observes lightly, tugging her night shirt.

Deb lifts herself up, so that his head lolls on to the bed, and swipes her night t-shirt off her head, making it land perfectly over Dexter's face.

He laughs at her childishness. Bringing her naked back up against his naked torso in an embrace. "You still smell of me", he chuckles. "And you haven't made our predicament any easier, sweetheart", he backs his groin up into her ass, so that she can feel how much he wants her.

... She _allows_ him his hold, over the endearing pet name he gave her.

"Where were you?" she mumbles finally.

"Hmmm?" he asks, as if she had just woken_ him_ up from sleep. "Sorry, it is just so comfortable", he brings her in closer, "just laying here with you. Being here with you", he places a kiss on the back of her head.

And so they lay in comfortable silence for a moments, until Dexter's hand creeps its way up her abdomen to her breast, giving her nipple a flick.

"Dexter", she warns.

"Jamie", he sighs.

"What?" she turns on him, so that they are face to face.

"Jamie... she made me have dinner with her"

"That's why I can smell alcohol on you", Deb swings herself off the bed, but Dexter's arms catch her around her waist. She tries to pry them open but to no avail.

"Dexter, will you please let go of me", she asks, as she would ask Harrison to not play with his food.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you"

"Why?"

Anger is on the tip of her tongue, but she sighs it away. "Because I'm tired and cranky, Dexter. Because you said that you would have dinner with me and the kids, because we waited for you when you didn't pick up your cell, because _I_ had to deal with their disappointment later. And now I hear, it's because _the nanny_, was trying to get into your pants...

...Did she?" she asks, suddenly afraid.

"What? No!" he says in shock, and she allows him to pull her further into his embrace. "I'm ... with you... I love you. She threatened to not look after the kids this weekend. Angel, and Cassie were there too".

"_Cassie_, that makes it better", she makes an attempt to bolt again, but again, is restrained.

"You don't like her"

"Lets just say, she is a bit too blonde for my liking"

Dexter sighs, rolling onto his back, bringing Deb down with her, so her bare back is angled against his torso.

"Astor seems to like her"

"I know", Deb says glumly, "that's all I fucking hear, Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. And then, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, from the boys".

"Cody, calls me, Daddy?" Dexter asks touched.

"Well, no, but you know what I mean".

"Oh", Dexter says kind of disheartened, "if it makes you feel better, you are all they talk about when they are with me".

Deb scoffs.

"I'm being serious, we can't get by two hours without Harrison crying for his mama", he muzzles his chin affectionately against her shoulder.

"Harrison, I can kind of believe, but the other two ..."

"Cody was boasting just last weekend how you can fit half a stake in your mouth one time".

"Hmmm", she muses.

"Talking about steak", he pokes her sides.

"What?"

"You're heavier, your body-", he trails his hands up and down her front, a finger worries one of her nipples, and she shivers. "- it felt different yesterday"

"Jesus Dexter, exactly how much did you have to drink".

"I'm not saying it as a criticism, I'm just merely highlighting the fact that I have noticed".

"Well... it's your child's fault", she whispers.

"How so?" he muses.

"... Everytime Harrison sits to eat, he asks me where my food is. It was eventually going to take its toll".

"Well, I like it, you look more healthy".

"Great, so before I didn't".

Dexter groans, and Deb laughs.

"Let's change the subject", he grips hold of her arms. "I'm going out to dinner with, Cassie, Friday evening", and he did so for a reason as Deb fights against her grip. "As per a reason for getting out of dinner early".

"Early! It's the middle of the night!"

"Yeah, well I had to go ... somewhere..."

Deb lets out a full body sigh, and Dexter flips her over on to his front, and then again so that she is squirming underneath him.

"Take it out on me", he husks.

* * *

_03:53_

Entwined around each others body, Dexter and Deb are both woken up by a faint scream, and then the crash of glass hitting the wooden floors.

Like a bolt, Dexter, grabs his trousers, his keys jingling as he jumps into them and out of Deb's bedroom.

It takes Deb a bit longer to spot her night t-shirt in the darkness.

She finds Astor's frail form in the middle of the dark kitchen. Obviously still in shock.

Deb pads over to her, stepping in some kind of liquid, her toe knocks against a glass tumbler.

"Astor?" she asks, enclosing her arms round her. Astor turns round into her embrace quickly, burying her head in her chest as she sobs.

"What happened?" Deb soothes, smoothing down her hair lovingly, placing a few kisses atop her head.

Astor hyperventalates but no words come out.

"OK, OK", Deb soothes more, prising Astor's face away from her so that she can talk to her, but she will not budge her grip. So instead she walks her into the boys rooms, who are thankfully, still asleep, and eases her into Harrison's bed.

Shutting the children's' bedroom door, she grabs her gun from her own room, and goes in search of Dexter. She cannot see him, but then cannot bring herself to go further than the steps of her veranda for fear over the kids. She sees that her BMW and his Ford however is still there.

Walking back up the steps, she notices something obstructing her front door way, almost stepping on it. She kneels down and is welcomed with a repugnant smell. She gags. Something dead. Squinting her eyes in the darkness; a small animal of some sort, just like the cat she thought Dexter had left out on her porch as a warning over one month, nearly two months ago.

Alert and wide awake, Deb waits by the kitchen table, in between the front door and the kids' bedroom; gun at the ready, whilst she waits for Dexter to return.

* * *

_11:42_

There is a knock on her office door and Deb looks up from the photograph she has been staring at for the last ten minutes.

"Come in", she calls, holding her breath.

Albeit telling herself she would not, she smiles when she sees Dexter enter her office.

He shuts the door behind him, locking it.

Deb raises her eyebrow and sets the photograph aside.

"You weren't here earlier ... wanted to see if you were now".

"I stayed with, Astor, a bit after dropping off the boys".

"Is she OK?"

Deb shakes her head from side to side, as if weighing her answer. "She'll be OK", she says finally, leaning back in her chair, her eyes casting appreciatively over Dexter's body.

Although, once again, he has come to work in his kill clothes.

"Did you get my text?" he asks, when their silence becomes to uncomfortable for them.

Deb nods.

"...You going to tell me what happened?" she asks eventually.

Dexter shakes his head.

Deb sighs, reaching for a pencil and twirling it between her fingers, "Astor, told me she was getting some water from the kitchen when she was scared by a figure outside, and that you tackled it to the ground before... depositing him in a cell, I assume...?" she muses, sarcastically.

"Astor, will never see that figure again", he says seriously.

Deb laughs, leaning forward, "You have to tell me who it is trying to get into my house, scaring my kids".

"I've taken care of it"

"Dexter", she exasperates signalling for him to take a look at himself. "You can't even look after yourself!"

He frowns, looking over himself, not understanding.

"I know when you wear those clothes ... I know why you wear them... But you have never been so unguarded at work. Fuck, I thought you were going to rip Quinn's head off the other day".

"But I didn't", Dexter mutters darkly.

Deb frowns.

He is missing the point.

"What do you have in your hands?" she asks dismissively over the magazines, and he walks over to her, stopping at the photograph.

"Why do you still have that?" he asks, frowning.

Deb's fingers lightly touch it, "because I like it", she says defensively, picking it up to admire it again, "... you know, I knew it was you, right away. Even before I saw, Dad"

"How were you sure?" he asks, uncertain.

"Because I know you, Dexter", she says tentatively...

Bringing her gaze up to his...

And their eyes lock.

His pupils darken.

Dropping whatever it is his hands, he grabs her face in both palms and pulls her in for a searing kiss.

Bruising her lips, but also re-igniting a fire in pits of her stomach.

She stands and he twirls her round up, against the desk.

Not unlocking her from his lips, he lifts her and her skirt up onto the wooden structure, nestling himself between her legs. His hand wanders between them, and she breaks their kiss.

"I..'m ready", she says breathlessly, and he lays her flat against her desk. Her breasts rising and falling in the constraints of her tight bra and shirt.

She hears the zip of his pants and he pulls her in closer, opening her legs wider.

Moving her panty material to the side, his erect cock slams into her.

"...Ngh... yess" she breathes, arching slightly off the desk.

"I have somewhere to be", he whispers, bending over her, making her feel even more of him.

He bites her chin, "so this is going to be very hard and fast", he says between his teeths' hold on her. "OK?" he asks, nuzzling her chin with his nose.

"O...K", she says breathlessly.

His arms snake underneath her back and cling on to both shoulders. He pulls out of her entirely, and then slams back into her, using his grip on her shoulders so that she meets his thrust with a force.

"Shit...", they both groan in ecstasy, and she frowns up at him, he is normally so silent.

He flashes her a smile, before continuing his conquest which cannot have lasted more than two minutes before she explodes and he spills into her.

...

Deb is glad there is a bathroom attached to her office. She would not have liked to clean, and freshen up in the public toilet, it might have been to revealing of her earlier antics – not that there are any other women on her floor, in fact there are no women's toilets on her floor.

Dexter emerges out of the bathroom and flashes her a smile, which she returns.

"I have to go", he apologises, and she nods.

"Astor's birthday tomorrow"

"Yeah, I know. Are we going to do anything?"

"I don't know. It's same day as your _date_ with, Cassie"

"I can cancel it", he reasons.

She nods, "actually, I am taking the day off, I don't know, do something... fun, I guess, I hope".

"I'm sure you will", he assures, walking over to her, taking her face in his hands, placing a loving kiss on her lips, that makes everything whirling around her stop. "You're a great mom to her. To all of them...

... I have to go", he kisses her eyes.

Her eyes fall to the ground, and she spies the fallen photograph.

She really must ask Matthews more about it, after all, he is in the photograph too...

"Dexter", she whispers, and she hears him turn. "If you want me to stop worrying about you, you have to be more careful. Stop bringing your, alternate, life to work and home".

Dexter sighs, "lately they have been becoming very blurred".

She raises her gaze to him, "maybe I cou-", she starts hopeful.

"No", he says tersely.

"Winslop-"

"I don't need Winslop's help", he growls. "Believe me, I have it coming out the woodwork", he purses his lips, and frowns, as if cursing himself for saying too much.

Deb's eyes fall back on the ground, dejectedly. They make out one of the, magazine covers. She reads it upside down, frowning.

"Europe", she mumbles, "What the fuck are these?".

"We're moving. Pick a country".

* * *

"Debra"

"Sir", Deb addresses on entering Matthew's office.

"What can I do for you this beautiful day"

Deb looks out the large velux window. It is a beautiful day. She had not made a note of it this morning. But then, everyday in Miami is beautiful...

Her face sours.

Europe however. You will be lucky to have two days without rain ruining your day.

She cannot believe Dexter is taking them away from all that they know.

A fresh start.

A chance to be normal.

Is that not what she wanted ...?

"It's Dexter's step-daughters birthday tomorrow", she starts to explain, "and it looks like I am the closest thing she has to a mother. So, if it's OK, I would like to take tomorrow off".

"Sure, although, you don't really need my permission", Matthew's eyes narrow on her, "what is it that you really came to ask me?"

Deb pauses momentarily, before pulling out the faded Polaroid photograph from her jacket pocket. She places it on the matching mahogany desk, and slides it purposefully across the table, over to Matthews.

His eyes squint, and then he chortles, "haven't seen that photograph in a long while. Long time ago... a lot of those faces, no longer exist", he says sadly.

"Thirty eight years ago", Deb breaks his solitude trip down memory lane, "Dexter was about three years old", she points to the second smallest figure.

Matthews squints, "yes, and there is your father, and Dexter's mother", he smiles down at the photograph, "like father, like son", he mumbles.

"My father wasn't Dexter's biological father", Deb automatically corrects.

"Oh, I know. I was referring to something else".

Deb goes to ask a question, but then is stopped short, "did you know that my father was having an affair with Dexter's mother?"

Matthew's grins, not giving anything away, "there are lots of things that I know about your father. Just like there are lots of things he knew about me. And lots of things I know about a whole lot of other people in that photograph..."

Deb waits for the rest, until she realises there is no more coming.

He is staying cryptic, and so not much point asking her next question.

She slides the photograph back towards her, but Matthew's thumb quickly stops her. And she is surprised by the suddenness of his movement.

"May I ask you, where you got this photograph from?" he asks.

"Maria", and she feels guilty for saying her name. "It was in the paperwork I was clearing out".

"Oh", Matthew says, and nods, "that makes sense"

"Why?"

"Hmm?" Matthew's asks, he was lost in his own world, "It's like I said Debra, keep your friends close and your enemies closer".

Deb frowns, her eyebrows furrowing even more as Matthew's takes her photograph from her.

"Do you mind if I take this?" he asks, pocketing it, "Maura, would love to see this".

_Maura is fucking dead!_

* * *

_Friday  
14:04_

The day was not over and it had been long, but Astor seemed to be enjoying it, so it was worth it.

Deb had the idea, late last night, while she was wondering what the fuck she could do with Astor for her birthday. Her nagging brain constantly reminding her how unlike Rita she was in every way. The decision to travel up to Melbourne, so that Astor could see her old friends and her grandfather, was more like an epiphany, putting herself in her mom's shoes and thinking what she would do. Waking Astor up early in the morning, she had been enthusiastic about visiting her grandfather in the hospice, but said that she was not quite ready to visit her friends.

The drive up had been fun. After dropping two very reluctant and envious boys off at school, they had rented a soft top Cadillac, put on their shades and driven the two and half hours singing along to cheesy eighties music. Her grandfather had been overjoyed to see them both, and Deb apologised numerous of times for not coming up before, and promised to bring Cody and Harrison up soon.

They then spent two hours showing Deb the local sites; their favourite restaurant for lunch, where the waiter put a candle in Astor's desert, and all the staff and customers proceeded to sing her, 'Happy Birthday'.

Astor, was of course, embarrassed.

But happy embarrassed, and Deb felt a weight lift off her heart because of it.

Although she offered, Astor, insisted in pushing her grandfather's wheelchair, as if it was her albatross that she had to carry. Deb did not agree with it, but respected her decision.

Now, heading back; Deb finds herself taking her eyes off the road every now and then, elated over the fact that Astor is at last, somewhat happy.

"We can go see him again next week if you like?" Deb offers.

Astor, resting her head on her arm, draped against the passenger door, turns to look at Deb. The wind sweeping her dark brown hair in front of her eyes, so she has to hold it back in a make shift pony tale.

"Take Cody and Harrison with us too. Unless you want to go by yourself again. I can take another day off work...?"

Astor smiles, "I'd like that".

"Good", Deb smiles too. Also delighted to see her birthday present, matching brown aviators, replacing Astor's old ones.

They drive in comfortable silence for the next ten minutes.

"Actually...", Astor says, to the palm of her hands.

And Deb turns. She has realised, that much like, Harrison, sticking his fingers in his mouth, and Cody, smiling, its a defence mechanism, showing that she is nervous.

"You don't have to be nervous of telling me anything, Astor", Deb encourages.

"... I was thinking of maybe going back to school... If I want to go to college, gonna have to finish school", she laughs shyly.

"That's great Astor, that's really fu-", she stops herself, and Astor smiles.

"You think its a fucking great idea?" Astor laughs.

"I think it is a fuck fucking fuck great idea!" Deb exclaims, and they both laugh.

...

_14:50_

Back in Miami, Deb slows her speed as they are nearing the rental company lot where they left Dexter's Ford. There are a few things she promised herself she would talk to, Astor, about today that she had so far, put off.

"Astor", she says hesitantly.

Astor turns, smiling.

"Fuck, this may not be the right time or day to talk to you about this, but I want you to know that I am here. If you ever want to talk about ... whatever... you know, what happened... or any fucking thing, boys, zits, PMS..."

"I know", Astor smiles.

"Good", Deb nods, pleased.

...

_14:52_

"... I'm sorry I haven't told you that before", Deb picks the conversation back up. "I just, everything was kind of hectic ... all this", she takes a hand of the driving wheel and twirls it in the air, "is all shitting new to me".

"That's OK", Astor smiles again sweetly.

And Deb nods, "good".

...

_15:04_

Deb parks the car at the end of the parking lot. There seems to be some sort of event going on near the front, and after two and a half hours driving, the walk would be nice.

She sighs, stretching, and closing her eyes for a blissful few seconds.

"I hadn't taken anything", Astor says all of a sudden, and Deb turns quickly, not properly taking in what she said.

"What?"

Astor is staring down at her hands, which are twisting uncomfortably in her lap.

"The car accident, they said I had taken something, but I hadn't. At least nothing that would allow me to black out like I did".

Deb frowns, taking in what Astor has said.

She is about to speak, when another voice stops her.

"Excuse me Mam, I am going to have to ask that you and your daughter move on. This here is a crime scene".

"A crime scene...? No, this is not my car, this is a rental, my car is further down the parking lot", Deb explains. "I just parked down here to escape whatever event was going on down there", she points in the direction of the crowds of cars and people.

The office turns with her, "well Mam, that e-vent, would be a crime scene. So I am going to have to ask you to vacate you and your daughter off police property".

"Wait", she reaches for her bag in the back seat, but Astor, more nimble, turns to get it.

"I am, I'm Captain Debra Morgan, of homicide – thanks", she says when Astor passes her her bag, she digs in for her badge.

Fishing it out, the police officer inspects it. She takes off her aviators, so he can see her face better.

"Sorry Captain Morgan", the officer replies, "I didn't recognise you".

"That's OK", Deb says, plopping her sunglasses back on.

She hums, assessing the situation.

"Can you do me a favour. Can you watch her", she clambers out of the car, "my daughter", she says, not daring to look at Astor's reaction, "while I go see what is going on".

"Certainly", he says with a nod.

"Great. Astor", she turns to the newly fifteen year old, "I won't be long".

"OK", she chirps, smiling.

"OK".

...

Drawing nearer, she sees that the event, is in fact a crime scene. Recognising the tell tale yellow tape. And those crowds of people, all have cameras.

Deb frowns, looking down at her phone, She had put it on silent when they first went into the hospice. She has since had seven missed calls from Angel, ten from Quinn, and about twenty four missed calls from Dexter.

What the fuck was so important that he called her twenty four times?

She would find out soon, as he notices his silhouette walking towards her.

Determined and fast.

He speeds up to a jog, and she slows,

... over the fear

... the fear, that her brain is becoming fuzzy, it is so reluctant to hear.

His lips crash on to hers, and he almost knocks her over.

So unabashed by who might be watching.

His hand, comes behind her head to bring her in deeper.

She grabs onto the lapel of his work shirt to steady herself.

He then crushes her into a hug.

"Dexter", she rubs his back soothingly, "Dexter, what's wrong", panic rising in her voice.

He stays clutched to her.

"Dexter!" she shoves him off her aggressively.

"...Harrison..., what's happened to my-"

"Harrison's fine", he assures.

"Cody?" she gasps.

"Cody's fine too. We've all been worried about you"

"Why, what happened?"

"Where's Astor?" he asks, urgently, looking behind her, she signals behind her. "In the car we rented.I got the officer to-", he rushes off in that direction, grabbing her by the hand and taking her with him.

"What happened Dexter?!" she shouts, tugging out of his lock, and jogging off in the opposite direction before he can stop her.

Cassie.

Cassie is what happened.

Dead on the concrete floor.

Splayed next Dexter's Ford.

* * *

_00:21_

Lying awake on an unfamiliar king sized bed, in a large expanse alien room. Harrison, asleep and clutched tightly to her chest. Astor, asleep, lying to the left of her, and Cody, asleep, lying to the right of her. The abandoned Monopoly game, still lays on the plush white carpeted floor, and the Anderson's fairy tale book, which she had managed to get them all to fall asleep to whilst reading, Thumbelina, lays on the marble bedside table. Whether that is a compliment or a comment on her story reading, she does not know.

Deb draws in a deep breath, taking in the unknown air. Even in the dark, this house, or should she say mansion, is too white. Everything is to orderly. Nobody normal lives her. It reminds her of Dexter's place.

She can hear a heated conversation going on downstairs. As to what is being said, she cannot discern. But decides she cannot let it get any higher, in the event it wakes the kids.

Despite that, she still takes Harrison with her. For comfort and for peace of mind.

Outside of their room, she is met by a large open hallway. Brightly lit light, bouncing off paper-white walls. Furniture is minimalistic, uncluttered and shades of white, cream, and birchwood.

Cradled in her arms, Harrison lets out a content sigh in his sleep, and she smiles down, bringing him in closer so she can kiss his forehead. Everyday, he is looking more and more like Dexter, and less like Rita. Brown specs have also started to emerge in Rita's clear blue irises, his hai – a gruff voice interupts her, which she knows is Dexter's, and continues her descent down the stairs.

She finds him in what she guesses is a very large study. He is standing very erect, and purposeful, trying to overpower the other two in the room. She guesses he is not getting his way.

Vogel, who Dexter introduced her to earlier, sits, cross legged, and tight behind her desk, her finger tips in a steeple perch her forehead.

And ... _Jonah Mitchell...?_

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Deb asks, breaking their troubled silence.

"Deb", Dexter turns to her, walking over, "I was just coming up", he places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Out the corner of her eye, she sees Vogel lean back in her chair, taking an interest over their interaction.

Her attention is distracted by the smell of blood, and she realises it must be coming from Dexter, who is leaning in to kiss Harrison.

She takes a step back.

Sure enough, there are spatters on his shirt.

He frowns at her, questioning.

"You have blood on you", she explains weakly.

"Oh", he frowns down at his shirt, "lets go to bed".

Dazed and suddenly very tired, she allows him to escort her up the stairs, and away from all the questions down stairs. She perches Harrison between his brother and sister, and then turns to Dexter.

"Come", he orders, escorting her into another large white room with an expanse double bed.

"Will they be OK alone in there?"

"They will be fine"

Deb nods, biting her lip, "why do you have blood on you?"

"Do you really want to know?"

She pauses, "yes".

"Because I killed the boy who murdered, Cassie", he goes to remove his shirt.

Boy.

"... And who was that?" she asks timidly. Moving to help him, when his arms gets stuck. "Dexter your arm?"

"It's OK, trapped nerve", although he says it through gritted teeth.

"You're too old to be doing this", she scolds, easing it gently over his arm.

"Hence, my young protegé downstairs".

The shirt falls to floor between them.

"Your shitting me", she laughs, although she means the exact opposite opposite.

"No", positioned near the bed, Dexter leans to turn on one of the bedside lamps, "it was going to be, Zach, but then he murdered Cassie, as a warn-"

"- Zach, Zach Hamilton?"

Dexter nods.

"So, that was why Quinn was angry at you. You were protecting him", she observes.

"Quinn doesn't know anything... but yes, he might of thought I was not helping him enough in his purseuement of Zach".

"So why is Trinity's son downstairs?"

Dexter sighs heavily, obviously tired from his exertion, and her questions, but she is going to take advantage of his loose tongue.

"He was the peeping Tom outside your house the other evening. He has been trying to get my attention for a while now. But instead of using my family, he used small animals instead".

Oh, well that was an explanation – she guessed.

"Cassie wasn't family".

"Astor saw her as family - did you tell her?"

She shakes her head, no.

Dexter nods in approvement, "... and it was only a matter of time after he came after you. There was a reason why he positioned her across my Ford, the car that is supposed to keep my family safe", his words come out stony, and his hands clench into fists.

"Do you think he knew you would react like you did", Deb asks, momentarily mesmorised by the muscles protruding in his biceps.

"... Maybe...", Dexter dismisses, because really, whatever he thought is unimportant. Seeing he is now with the fishes.

"The first time I went after him, he actually encouraged me to kill him".

"And Trinity's fucking son...?"

Dexter sighs again, "Jonah can wait to be explained in the morning. I'm tired", he says retiring to the en suite bathroom.

When Dexter emerges from the bathroom. Deb is laid out in her blood red lace underwear.

Showered and dressed only in his boxers, Dexter walks over and collapses on the bed, locking Deb's lower half in his embrace, his head resting on her flat abdomen.

He holds her like that for a long time.

"I like these", he flicks the bow on her red panties. "Love the colour even more", he snuggles in closer, nuzzling his his nose and chin into her stomach.

Deb laughs, "you should do, you picked them out".

Dexter smiles, resting his lolling his head to one side.

"What?" he asks, sleepily.

"These were the underwear you left out for me to wear this morning", she tussles his curls lovingly.

He rests his chin on her stomach.

"What?"

* * *

_**I don't know... did a lot happen or was it overtly descriptive. I can't believe episode 10 is going to be aired this week, and I am only on C9. Going to have to pull my socks up!**_

_**So... Winslop :/  
Deb and Dexter...?  
Jonah ...?  
Astor ...?  
Quinn ...?  
And what was Matthew's referring to ...?**_


	10. The Black Queen's Rule Book

The Black Queen's Rule Book

_Saturday, March 13th.  
06:34_

Waking up alone, Deb pulls on her clothes from yesterday. Finding the children still asleep, she pads down the stairs.

"Tea?" Vogel, surprises her on entering the study.

Feeling her throat horse, Deb clears her throat. "Got anything stronger?", she asks the older woman sat behind her desk, typing away on her Mac.

"Coffee?" Vogel asks, closing her laptop screen, before walking out the room.

Deb follows.

"Coffee would be perfect".

* * *

"You're analysing me", Vogel observes, smiling, as she pushes down the filter on the coffee pot.

"No", Deb meekly tries to defend herself, "I was just ... watching you make coffee... I'm pretty fucking serious about ... my coffee". Deb bites her lip, cringing at the utter rubbish that is coming out of her mouth.

Vogel nods knowingly. "It's only natural for you to be analysing me", she states, reaching to get two pristine white coffee mugs, and then a small matching milk jug and a sugar pot.

She repositions everything so that they are evenly apart, and Deb once again cringes, being reminded of Dexter's unnatural impeccableness.

"Human extinct, to want to know more about the person who has been keeping your brother away from you".

She moves suddenly, and Deb has to take a quick step back to allow, Vogel, access to the fridge.

Deb's eyes follow her like a hawk.

"Or is he your lover?" the older women smiles opening the fridge, and retrieving the milk. "He can't be both", Vogel states, pouring the milk into the empty container.

Deb bites her lip and lets out a laugh, "Jesus fuck, Dexter, said you were good".

"I am. Especially when it comes to, Dexter. And perhaps, when it comes to you". She smiles again at Deb's confused frown. "What has, Dexter, told you about me?" she asks, putting back the milk.

"Not a fucking lot", Deb mutters.

"You wish he opened up to you more?".

Yes.

Deb shrugs. "I guess that is just who, Dexter, is", she drawls, rubbing her finger against a coffee mug irritably.

"But you wish he wasn't?"

"I can't change him", Deb forces out a smile.

"Exactly", Vogel concurs happily.

Deb grits her teeth, narrowing her eyes on Vogel.

She watches the older woman pour her a mug of coffee.

"Milk?"

Deb shakes her head.

"Sugar?"

Deb nods, "two please".

"Ah, the exact polar opposite of, Dexter", she smiles.

And Deb grits her teeth again. "So, where is Dexter?" she asks, taking a sip of coffee.

"He didn't tell you?" Vogel muses, perching herself against the counter. It is now her turn to analyse Deb.

Deb turns her face away from the inquisitive face, and shakes her head.

"Well, I better not tell you then".

* * *

_08:52_

She left Vogel's as soon as the children woke up. Taking a cab back to their cluttered, multi-coloured, bungalow by the sea.

...

"Harrison, come on, lets go", Deb calls from the front door.

Their patience waning, Astor and Cody are already outside, clad in factor 50 suncream, sun hats and swimming costumes; towels draped round their neck, and a plastic bag in hand – or slung over the shoulder, in Cody's case - of picnic food. Cody has his boogie board over the other shoulder. Astor, her replaced iPhone in tow - curtosy of Dexter for her birthday, what more does a fifteen year old girl need...?

Deb, dressed in her swimwear too, hers and Harrison's towels draped around her neck, the sun umbrella in one hand, and her hand bag slung over one shoulder - her cell is set on, Loud, _should_ Dexter call.

Harrison rushes from his and Cody's bedroom in his blue lyrcas; almost tripping over, as the brim of his sun hat mars his vision. "Me 'n Cl'rence, 'an't f'ne, Moos'i, an'where".

Moo'si, or Deb is pretty sure he is meant to say, Mooshi, is Harrison's imaginary friend.

"_Awwr_", Deb pretends to care, because Dexter, far from unimpressed, has really been on her back about his son's non-existent passenger. "Maybe she is already at the beach - Quick grab your bucket before she uses all the sand".

Harrison frowns, "Moo'si 'an't take all san' in the whole 'each", he says seriously.

"Yes, Harrison", Deb rolls her eyes, "I was being silly. Now lets grab your tools, and go!"

"Hurry up, Harrison", Cody whines.

"I 'ant f'ne, Moos'i!" Harrison shouts over.

"That's because, _Moosi,_ doesn't exist".

"Does-"

"- Doesn't"

"Does -"

"- Doesn't"

"Does- ".

"Boys!" Deb silences them.

"Doesn't", Cody mumbles quietly.

"God, Cody", Astor scolds, "he is three years old".

"Yeah, the most annoying three year old in the world, who _I_ have to share a room with-", he grumbles back.

"- Good-Morning".

Everyone turns to the man walking up their front porch steps.

Deb squints ...

... She has never seen him before.

"Debra Morgan?"

"Who wants to know?" Deb asks, striding over before he can get any closer to the children.

He stops at the second before last step.

His eyes trail over her bikini exposed body.

"I'm hoping to speak to, Dexter Morgan, about, Hannah McKay, being back in Miami".

* * *

_09:28_

Changed into jeans and a t-shirt. Deb presses the filter down on the coffee she prepared, before running a hand through her wet hair. Desperate to cool down, it had been her second shower this morning.

She takes a seat on the sofa facing the front door and waits.

Her short finger nails clicking irritably against one another.

...

"Where are the kids?" Dexter asks on entering the bungalow.

"Jamie", Deb answers reaching to both pour them coffee. She puts a swig of Bailey's in hers, before filling it up to the top with black coffee, and then proceeds to pour some in Dexter's. It's strange that it was only this morning that she learnt that, Dexter, likes milk in his coffee and no sugar. She had always just made his the same, and he had always just gone along with it.

"Milk and no sugar?" she asks.

Dexter takes a seat on the opposite sofa, "whatever", he says.

"How would you like your coffee, Dexter?" she asks tersely.

"Uhh, milk no sugar... so how is, Jamie?"

Deb shrugs, "as expected. But now that she has a surveillance team watching her and the kids, per request of the _US Marshall_ that visited us this morning", she shoots Dexter a pointed look, "she feels a lot safer".

"... Have you told the kids about, Cassie?" he ignores her opening.

"No. Not yet", she sighs, passing him his coffee, before taking a sip of her own.

Dexter takes a sip of his too.

"So. Hannah fucking McKay...", she smiles _sweetly_ at him...

Before dropping her face.

"When the fuck where you going to tell me, that blood sucker was back in Miami".

"Uhhh", Dexter's thumb rubs against his mug, before taking another long sip.

Deb frowns, suddenly unable to keep her eyes open.

"R-"

"- Dex", she cuts off, slight panick in her voice.

"What is it?" he asks, going over to her.

"I ..., I ... don't feel so good", her hand rests across her perspiring forehead. Dexter's joins there too.

She can feel her eyes roll back.

"-Deb", Dexter catches her in his arms, picking her up with the aim of driving her to the hospital, but he falls back down under both their weight.

"Please, let me be OK", she whispers, "I'm –", her words are lost.

* * *

"Fuck".

Her throat is parched.

Fuck.

Her head aches.

"Fuck".

All of her aches.

Fuck.

Her stomach pangs.

It is cold, she can feel it on the tip of her nose.

Dank. As though it is clogging her bones.

Dusty. Making her breath raspy.

She feels around her in the pitch-black darkness...

Wall...

... ... Wall...

... ... ... Wall ...

... Wall ...

Heart rate racing, she stands...

... reaching knee high before she knocks her head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck".

* * *

She has managed to find a light.

'_Use Me', _is written in neat joined up writing_._

Bottled waters, packaged food, and a book.

Whoever left her in here, obviously does not want her to die straight away, not of dehydration, starvation, or boredom.

'_Drink Me', 'Eat Me', 'Read Me'._

She does not know what the time is. Her cell and watch have been taken.

How long has she been out...?

A couple of hours could have passed ...

... a day ...

... maybe a whole week...?

The last thing she remembers is Dexter's concerned face, and her asking him to let her be OK.

* * *

She has given in, and taken a sip of the water.

Her stomach was also begging her for some food, so she has eaten some of the pumpkin seed crackers – Whole Foods, nonetheless. Whoever left her in here has expensive tastes.

And she has a good idea who too.

* * *

Back against the wall, knees up, she sighs, lolling her head backwards so that it rests against the cool smooth rock.

Her eyes flick to the lamp, and wonders how long the batteries will last.

How long her sparsing food will last...?

Water...?

Her eyes then trail down to the book.

'_Read Me'_.

Giving in with a heavy sigh, she brings the book over to her.

Black.

Hardcover.

By the feel and smell of it, new.

Not particularly weighty, could not be more than 200 pages.

'The Code'.

She turns the cover, and reads the first page.

* * *

Stuck in a daze.

There are chapters left but she cannot bring herself to read to read anymore.

Her eyebrows further knitting together is the only sensation she can feel...

Stuck.

In.

A.

Daze.

She turns off the lamp, the light suddenly scorchingly blinding.

* * *

She misses Harrison...

... misses his smiles.

The warmth of his head against her chest.

His smell.

She misses Astor and Cody too.

She wonders how much time has passed.

How people have explained her absence.

How many people will have noticed ...?

Her eyes flick to the two litre bottles left of Evian, and the three items of packaged food.

She has tried to ration but her stomach has been begging her for food, and it just so god damn dusty in here.

... Wherever '_here_' is...?

Some sort of cave ...

Cold and dank, and very dark, if it was not for this light... but then, batteries eventually run out.

She knows she has to get back.

But how...?

And how much longer can she last...?

* * *

Half a litre left, and a few crackers.

Curled up on the floor, her prayer hands, comforting her head – she hears noises coming from outside.

Talking.

An adult's voice...

... now a child's voice...

... ... another adult's voice.

... Higher pitch tone...

The sounds start to move away...

Scrambling up, through a croak, she shouts for help...

* * *

_Monday  
Dexter's apartment  
18:34_

Sat amongst the excited chatter around the dinner table. His fingers lodged in his mouth, Harrison studies the woman he was so happy to see but now unsure.

The woman, who had filled an unknown missing warmness in his heart, which had now started to chill.

Mooshi stares uncertainly at her too.

Maybe it is because of the flicks of uncertainty his father sometimes shoots her in between his big happy smile.

His father's short but frequent gazes to the front door.

It seems like they are looking out for the same person.

Unstealthy - unlike his father, he gets caught out. She smiles sweetly at him, and pulls out his slobbery fingers and kisses them, one by one.

Just like his mama would have done.

He smiles.

His worrying thoughts get giggled away.

* * *

_21:19  
_

Washed and dressed in a stranger's house and clothes. It is with a weary and heavy step and heart that Deb returns to her empty bungalow by the sea. The waves, drift almost melodically up and down the shore line. Again, contraire to the heavy load that it is carrying, splaying uncaringly along the coast.

Maybe it is exhaustion?

A lack of concern?

Maybe it is something else...?

It turns out, she was only absent for fifty six hours...

She places her spare keys which she retrieved from underneath the frog in the front lawn, carefully on to the kitchen island. Then the book. Before resting her entire weight against it with her two hands.

She eyes the book which she considered leaving, there, in the cave, but despite everything ...

She still _feels _for him.

... But, those fifty six hours have been enough time for her to be replaced.

She lets out a heavy sigh, a sob on the cusp of her thro-

"Dexter...?" a woman's voice calls, and Deb whips her head around to be confronted with yet another blonde lady.

Lumen.

Another blonde lady with her blonde baby.

And a malicious thought crosses her mind, as to whether that baby is Dexter's.

Before she has time to let that thought or anything else develop, she grabs the keys and heads back into the night.

* * *

_Tuesday  
08:01_

"We should really get up you know", Quinn kisses her shoulder, trailing a finger across each soft mound on her bare naked chest.

Uncomfortable by his actions, she shys away from him so that his fingers fall on to her rib cage.

They do not belong to him.

He then proceeds to trail along the bones of her ribcage.

That does not bother her so much.

Laid up on her back, she had been lying awake for half an hour before she had woken, Quinn, up for another round of de-stressment... She is not even quite sure how she got in here ...? in his bed...? One moment, all she knew was she had to get away from her bungalow. The next moment, she was outside Quinn's opened door, initiating a very searing kiss.

"So...?" Quinn asks through butterfly kisses down her shoulder.

They have a tingle, but not the same wantonness as Dexter's. But still ... it was nice, and she could get used to it she guessed.

" ...how ... do ...you ... feel about ... your brother moving to ... ... Argentina?" he reaches the cusp of her breast, and again, she squirms away uncomfortably. "Must be pretty cut up...", he nuzzles the golden hairs on her shoulder lovingly, "about him taking the boy away from you-"

With a comfortable distance between him and her breasts, she frowns, taking in his words. She sits up, suddenly and he looks up at her bewildered.

"What?" she asks in disbelief.

Quinn frowns going to answer, when his front door is opened, the sound of soft footsteps walking towards their bedroom door. Quinn swings out of bed and Deb reaches for the sheet to cover herself just as the bedroom door is opened.

"Guess what –", a chirpy voice starts to sound.

But just like the smile that greets them, the voice falls, and Jamie slams the door shut, storming out.

"Fuck", Quinn mutters. "We are – were kind of seeing each other".

* * *

_11:24_

"So what is that book that you are carrying around with you like it is your fucking Holy Grail?" Quinn asks over the black hardcover.

Unfortunately, there was no spare key to Deb's office, with the locks being changed just last week after, Dexter, breaking and entering last week; she had not yet made a duplicate. So, the locksmith had to be called in, again, to break the lock, and set a new one in place, again.

Deb eyes glare at, Quinn, cautiously.

"Did you read any?"

"No", he says laughing over her terse voice, raising his hands in the air, "just, you're so protective of it".

And she is.

And is also not quite sure if she believes him... ...and what would that mean ...?

She pushes that troubling thought aside, and locks the book in the top drawer of her front desk, which is luckily code locked.

'The Code', locked by the code – how ... ironic. Her mind allows itself to be amused by the situation.

"... so what is it?" Quinn asks again.

Persistent.

Annoying.

Hovering.

He has been following her around all morning like a lovesick puppy. And there is only so much of that, Deb, in her current state of mind, can take.

She sighs exasperated, "it's just something that was very important to me ... it was my ... father's", she lies, but it does the trick becase he drops the subject.

...

A key tries and fails to turn office door's new lock; Deb and Quinn both turn, frowning.

There is then a quiet knock.

"Come in...?", Deb asks, intrigued as to who it might be. Her fingers reach for the comfort of her gun, but of course it is not there.

The door opens, and it is not who she expects it to be.

Astor and Cody ...

Followed in by _Dexter_.

- So where is Harrison...?

Despite herself, her eyes lock on to Dexter's, begging him the question.

He closes them slightly, with loving grace, telling her that he is not in immediate danger.

But the thought of _who_ he might be with makes her sick, and she sets a piercing glare on him, before removing it to settle kindly on the children.

"Aunt Deb - ", Astor, chirps, moving in for a hug.

She can hear, Dexter, gruffly ask, Quinn, to leave.

"- did you have a nice holiday?"

Quinn, mutters something, not so amicable, and not so quiet.

Deb's, Astor's and Cody's heads all turn towards the men.

Quinn's, back is to them.

But Deb, can see that Dexter's, fists are clenched so tightly, they have gone white.

"Quinn", she soothes, "don't you have somewhere you need to be...?"

Quinn tilts his head to one side, "that's right", he directs at, Dexter, "_doing my job_", he sneers, before storming out the room.

All eyes fall on Deb, and she grabs, Cody, into her hug too. Happy to have them close again, despite the embrace being one two-footer short.

Dexter, clears his throat.

"Aunt Deb, and I have to talk", he addresses the kids dismissively.

Deb's smiling eyes are trained on, Astor, but she can feel, Dexter's stare, burning into her.

"Did you have a nice time?" Astor asks, not ready to let go.

"Where did you go?" Cody asks, "why didn't you take us with you?"

Deb, widens her smile down at the teenage boy, but directs her next words at, Dexter. "You wouldn't have had any fun. It was very cold and wet. The catering was poor, and so was the entertainment. And ...", she rubs Cody's back lovingly, her voice smoothing, now she is directing her conversation to the kids, "no electricity".

"Ah. Boring", Cody exclaims, "how did you not die of boredom?"

"I almost did", she smiles.

Dexter obviously cannot take anymore, as he moves swiftly to Deb's side. Gently removing the children from her side, and with one of his hand's ghosting her neck, he leads her towards the office door.

She can almost feel it tightening around her.

"Stay in here while me and your, Aunt Deb, talk", he asks them.

...

Outside in the corridor, Dexter's hand moves round to the front of her neck and he grips it tightly before placing a fierce kiss on her lips.

Her stomach swoons.

"Dext-", she tries to pull away, but he just deepens his kiss and his hold, forcing his tongue's entrance, crushing his body deeper into her. His hand's clutch tightens around her vocal chords.

As with many of situations she finds herself in with, Dexter, she could not even cry for help if she wanted to.

In a gasp of air, she manages to bite down on his tongue, and he pulls his lips away, but not his hold.

He frowns at her, but her frown is deeper, and he allows her to push him away.

She straightens up the clothes that are not hers, and frankly, too big. Rubbing her hurting, swollen lips.

Eventually, she makes eye contact with Dexter's military-style boots. They are not laced with same red dusty chalk that her clothes, and skin were engrained in; turning the shower water a deep brown when she had washed the only reminiscents from her ordeal that could ever be washed off.

They instead seem almost, clean.

Obviously he was not that worried about her absence.

She frowns.

Clean trousers.

Her eyes trail up.

Clean shirt.

Finally, she allows her gaze to flick on to his face. And for all the times, Dexter, has looked shit this year, he has never looked more.

His kind, sorrowful eyes are bearing into hers.

"I – ", he starts.

She does not want to hear though, and holds up her hands to walk away.

But he grips onto them, and pulls her up flush against him.

Locking her.

His breath breathing heavily down the left side of her turned away cheek and throat.

She feels nothing though.

Except, maybe a steady heartbeat in the pit of her abdomen somewhere.

"I was so worried", he pleads.

His voice broken.

She does not feel sorry though.

Except, for maybe the steady heartbeat in the pit of her abdomen somewhere.

She finds her voice, clearing her throat, but drops her gaze to the floor.

"You're good at loosing people, Dexter", she feels his grip slacken on her wrists, and she pushes out of his hold. "Although, once again, all you had to do was report it to, Miami Metro, and you would have found who you were looking for".

She goes to move, again; and again, he moves to grab her, as if afraid of loosing her.

But she dodges him, "please Dexter, this is way to touchy for brother and sister, anyone would think we were something more".

* * *

_Wednesday  
07:12_

Deb kept in her office for the remainder of the day, in an attempt to not encounter her brother again. Although, she recognised her BMW distantly tail her all the way back to Quinn's apartment. She wondered how long he would wait outside, until he understood that she would not be.

Quinn flicks her nose in an attempt to get her attention.

She turns her thoughts away from, Dexter, to face him, the pillows rustling as she does.

She smiles.

"You were miles away?" he muses.

"I was. Shit fuck, I am", she stares back up at the ceiling, before returning her attention to Quinn, turning so that her whole body is facing him.

"So, what's your fucking problem with, Dexter ... with my brother", she stumbles.

She needs to get used to saying that, seeing him that way again.

Quinn breathes out a full body sigh, and turns so that he is flush against his back, and stares up at the ceiling. "Fuck, look, I know you love your fucking brother. But he is such a FUCK asshole sometimes".

Deb laughs.

And Quinn smiles, nestling beside her again.

"Fuck. I promised him I wouldn't tell you. But, I no longer give a fuck about being in his good books", he laughs again, and Deb joins in, for consistency sake.

He tucks her stray hairs behind her ears.

She does not like it. It reminds her too much of Dexter ... her brother, and nudges his touch away.

"So...?" she asks impatiently.

"So...?" he frowns, grinning, confused, but grinning over the fact that he once again as her back in his heart and in his bed.

"So, what did, Dexter, not want you to tell me?"

"Oh", he says, rolling back on to his back, staring back up at the ceiling.

Deb sits up, resting her weight on her elbow, so as not to miss anything to the rustling of the pillows or the sheets.

Quinn makes a face, "I don't really know why he was so fucking intent on you not knowing. I mean you would be more of a fucking help then he shitting has been. At least you would actually care", he compliments, shooting a smile at her, which she quickly replies too, so he will hurry up with his story. "Operation Duckling. We all agreed-"

"- We?"

"Me, Angel, Miller, _your brother_", he says darkly, "even Masuka, when you bribed him with porn enough", he chuckles... "anyway, we all agreed that there was something not quite right about it. That we were on to something, and then it got conveniently swept under the rug by the FBI. So, we've been going into it a bit more"

"More how?"

Quinn blows out a puff of breath, " all we have really been able to do is to go through case files. It's amazing how much some of the trafficking case files show similar stories".

"And have you found anything concrete?"

He shakes his head. "The CCTV is what really would have helped us- "

"But the CCTV was checked. It didn't help fuck, there was no fucking footage"

"That's what they say. But this is America, and there is always someone fucking watching you", he says seriously. "And soon, I will – ", Deb's silence his paranormal rambling, before resting her head back on the pillow. Confused as to why, Dexter, would not want her to know about that.

"You know, if you really want to make a headway on these trafficking cases, who could really be of help to you is-"

"You", Quinn replies, stealing a kiss.

She smiles, accepting his kiss.

"Winslop".

"Lieutenant of Vice?"

"Yeah, he-"

Her speech is interrupted by the sound of the front door shutting.

They both frown in the direction of the bedroom door.

"Jamie?" Deb wonders dubiously.

Quinn makes a face, and swings out of bed.

The bedroom door swings open, and a figure whose face is hidden by a black balaclava enters the room.

Shotgun at the ready.

Before Deb's heart even has time to spike, a shot has been fired, and she is painted with blood.

She can feel the warm, cumbersome liquid, splattered on her face.

On her neck.

Her shoulder.

Her chest.

She is in too much shock to scream.

Her eyes widening further in horror, as the barrel is then aimed at her head.

Nothing flashes before her eyes.

No thoughts, except for the one that she is sure she is going to die.

But then the barrel is lowered, and the unknown masked gunmen sighs, before exiting quickly out of the room and the apartment.

* * *

_08:24_

Recounting the attack as best as she could, they had escorted her out of the bedroom.

She no longer had to be in the same room as Quinn's brain splattered remains, but she could still feel it all over her face, upper neck and shoulder.

As fresh as when it was first splayed.

Burning into her skin.

Would they really ever go away...?

She spots his corn yellow eyes zoning in on her through the small crowd of people in what was, Quinn's small living room.

Their eyes remain locked until he is standing in front of her.

She cannot read the expression in his, all she knows is that they are here for her.

Like a hawk, she follows them when he turns to talk to someone. Her eyes focus on his lips, to try and workout what he is telling them, because all she can hear is white noise.

She thought herself strong for getting through this past half an hour.

The questions, the photographs, the stares.

But now, with Dexter in front of her. All she wants to do is run into the safety of his arms and burst out crying.

She feels his fingers on the small of her back, as he escorts them both away.

...

_08:29_

He perches her on the closed toilet seat, and runs the hot tap in the sink.

Testing the water, he retrieves a folded face cloth over the shower rail, before starting to wash her dead lover's blood and brain matter off of her face.

"It's evi – ", she starts to protest.

"They have enough", he cuts off, and Deb closes her mouth, lowering her gaze to the tiled floor.

But his hand jerks it back up and she is forced to look at him.

His eyebrows are knitted in concentration.

His lips pursed in a thin line.

She challenges herself to look into his eyes... they are not looking at her, but they are just as tiresome as they were the other day in her office. He is starting to look his age... maybe older.

"There", he says when he is finished.

And her gaze bounces to make contact with his averted one.

"I brought you some clothes", he indicates to the bag on the floor, "that", he swallows hard, "were at mine. I thought maybe you could use them..."

His eyes catch hers, and he looks away, hurt.

Deb bubbles, her emotions brimming at the surface, before she can no longer hold it any longer and bursts out crying.

He hesitates.

But then slowly, Dexter extends his arms, and she launches into them, muffling her loud cries in his chest. He grips onto her tight, a hand rubbing the back of her head lovingly. She feels his own tears fall on the top of her head, and then his searing kisses, and all of a sudden she needs to feel one on her own lips. Lifting up her head they share a searing kiss. She can taste his salty tears... maybe its hers? Or both?

"Why?" he asks, pain lacing his voice, "why, were you here?" through a pepper of kisses along her face. "You're so stupid. I almost lost you. Then who would I be?" he asks.

She pulls away and finds his broken face.

"I don't know. I'm sorry", she cries into his shirt.

* * *

To say that Deb feels better after her shower, is a definite long shot. But she definitely feels more collected and in control. Although it is weird that she gained it in the bathroom of a dead lover, who only an hour and a half ago, brains were splattered over her.

It also thus presented another nagging idea:

Why was she saved?

Sat in contemplation on the toilet seat, drying slowly in her towel; there is a knock on the bathroom door and Dexter enters, closing the door behind him.

Already she can feel a change in the dynamics from half an hour ago, when they were both crying in the others' arms. And by the way he looks over her wearily, so does he.

She stands, running fingers through her wet hair.

"Where are the kids?" she asks.

"With Jamie"

She raises her eyebrow. Not the answer she expected.

"So, I take it she does not know about Quinn?" she asks, feeling guilty over the compromising position she last saw Quinn in, and what would always be her lasting memory of him.

Dexter shakes his head. "I'll take you home when your dressed".

Deb turns to look at her reflection in her mirror, her eyes are still puffy and withdrawn, but then, that is to be expected. "There are a bit too many blondes crowding my home for my liking", she snaps, startling him. "... No, Dex", she says in a much softer voice, "I'm going to stay here and try and help. Do they know anything more?"

Dexter shrugs, "I don't know, I was just waiting outside the door until I heard the shower stop", he explains quickly, "- but Deb", he takes a step forward, and she turns, raising her hands to stop him from advancing any closer. "You need to rest", he tries to reason. "You are probably still in shock, and then you won't be help to anybody".

"I am fi-ne, Dex", but the croak in her voice tells him the opposite. "I need to stay ... I need to help ... I need too know... why", she says truthfully.

He nods, "but I need you safe ...

... why were you here?" he asks again, hurt, again lacing his throat.

"Do you really want to know the answer, Dex?" she asks, her tired, abused eyes finding his.

They lock with hers for a while before turning away.

"Do you still love me?" he asks, in a confused childlike voice.

Deb snorts, "I don't know, Dex. I don't know what it is I feel for you, but it can't be love".

Except, maybe for the steady heartbeat in the pit of her abdomen somewhere...

* * *

**_There was more, ending on a twist/cliff hanger, but annoyingly I had to cut it out for plot purposes. I think it will work better in the next chapter anyway. Until next update!_**


	11. All the Pieces on the Board

**_Thanks guys for the reviews! I know, I have a lot of loose ends _****_–_****_ because it is told from Deb_****_'_****_s POV _****_–_****_ but everything should become a bit more clearer in this chapter _****_–_****_ have to keep you on your toes though ;)_**

_Continued ..._

All the Pieces on the Board

_09:16_

Lost doing the top button up on her green skinny jeans, the knock on the bathroom door breaks Deb's reverie. She looks down at her hands, she had not even realised they had been shaking.

There is another knock.

She rolls her eyes.

_Dexter_.

"Deb?"

She frowns.

Angel...?

Throwing her t-shirt on, she hastily opens the door, surprised not to find Dexter's face but Angel's sorrowed and grief-stricken one.

Her face falls too, her eyes tearing up. Angel's does the same, before enveloping her in a big hug.

She rests her chin on his comforting shoulder.

"I'm glad your safe, Mami"

Deb's watery eyes stare at the white painted wall in front of her. "I'm not", she croaks.

Angel pushes her away, and looks at her sternly, "I don't want to hear that. You don't mean that".

Deb shamefully nods to the ground, biting her bottom lip.

She does not mean it. She does not know why she said it.

"Why not me too?"

Angel sniffs, his hands wipe away tears surrounding his eyes, before resting his large hands on her frail shoulders. "I – ", he clears his throat, "I will not rest until I find out why. Just after a drop you home. Dexter aske- "

"- Fuck no", Deb retorts seriously, shaking her head. She is fuck tired of being in the dark. "No freaking fuck, am I going home to knit fuck balls when Quinn's killer is out there".

...

_11:17_

By 10:30, everything that could be taken and logged from Quinn's – the crime scene – was logged. All that could be done now was to try and puzzle the pieces together. Until Quinn's killer was found, Deb had relegated herself back to detective work, and although somewhat enthused about being back in the loop, she had to say, she was upset by the turn out.

No Masuka.

No Miller.

No Dexter.

" - where the fuck is everybody!?" hiding in the far corner of the room against the wall, she interrupts a homicide inspector who is recounting, her account of what happened. Deb, now becomes the centre of attention, as multiple sets of bewildered eyes, whom _did_ make the effort to accompany this meeting, lay on hers. She flicks her gaze away, realising she is being anything but helpful.

Saved by the loud knock on the meeting room door, someone she has never noticed before steps in, purposefully. By the look of his uniform, a tech.

His eyes first make eye contact with, Deb, and by the look he is giving her, she can tell it is bad news.

The tech signals, Angel, over and Deb's eyes then suspiciously.

Whatever the tech is telling him, is definite bad news, as Angel's whole body seems to fall three inches smaller.

She adjusts her back against the wall, impatient to also hear this new information.

Angel dismisses the tech with a nod, before drawing his gaze on Deb. It is full of sympathy. He holds it for a few moments before signalling her over with his head.

Raising her eyebrows, she heads over, her heart rate beating a hundred miles an hour.

What the fuck could it be ...? Her whole body flushes with fire as she tries to recollect the build of the gunmen... He was masked, but she would have recognised Dexter's structure... would she not?

He leads her outside the meeting room into the deserted bull ring.

"Fuck what is it?" she asks, aggravedetdly tucking loose hairs behind her ears. Her cheeks her burning, and she resists the urge to fan them cool.

Angel steps in closer to her, lowering his voice, "police dogs found a quarter of a million worth of cocaine in Quinn's apartment".

Deb pulls away startled, and Angel nods his head in confirmation.

"Shitting Christ no", she laughs in disbelief.

Angel bows his head.

Deb makes a face at it. "Fuck, Angel. You don't believe this shit do you?"

Angel ponders.

"No".

And Deb breathes out a sigh of relief.

"But I am going to have to interrogate you. Officially off the record".

"Fuck sure. I'll do anything to clear Quinn's name. Fuck, am I going to let him go down like this".

...

_11: 23_

"Debra Morgan?" a definitive voice stops her and Angel, just as they are about to enter the interrogation room.

They both turn.

The US Marshall escorted by Winslop, none other, who was also in the meeting, which she guessed adjourned when their Captain and Lieutenant abruptly left the room.

"This will only take a minute", she mutters to Angel, and he nods, going into the interrogation room by himself.

"Who are you interrogating?" the US marshal asks, and she notices that Winslop also seems interested in the answer.

"None of your fucking business that's who".

Deb grimaces, biting her tongue.

"I'm sorry", she apologises, resting a hand briefly over her eyes, "I've had a fuck hard day that makes Jesus being nailed to the cross seem like a fucking walk in the park".

"That's right, I heard from your guy", he indicates to Winslop, and Deb frowns at him ... why is he still standing there? "You lost one of your detectives – "

"Detective Joseph Quinn", she interrupts, refocusing her attention on the marshal, "and he was more than just a detective, he was my friend".

Winslop clears his throat.

"Well I'm sorry to hear that. And I will try not to take up a lot of your time, I just have one quick question for you..."

"Well make it quick", Deb says impatiently, folding her arms.

"How is Dexter's son?"

The question throws her off, it was not the one she expected and alarm bells ring off in Deb's head, which she is certain is visible to all in the corridor.

"... fine", she tries to fiend careness, "he's fine. Why the fuck wouldn't he be?" a pang of desperation in her turned question.

"He was checked into hospital the other day...", he explains like he is explaining why drinking eight bottles of beer a day is bad for you.

Deb's heart stops. Her eyes flick to, Winslop, who is still standing there, listening, clearly very interested in their conversation. She then lands them back on the US marshal.

She swallows hard.

Dexter would have told her if, Harrison, was in trouble ... Wouldn't he...?

The marshal's eyebrows raise up at her expectantly.

She frowns, and shakes her head, "like I said. He's fine".

"He's fine...?" he asks again slowly, sceptical over her answer.

Deb's heart is in her throat, she goes to open her mouth, but no sound comes out. She can feel sweat start to perspire on her forehead.

"Are you going to make her say it again", Winslop laughs.

Winslop. Her knight.

"The kid is fine".

"OK", the Marshall smiles, and turns to walk away, before turning back. "I'm sorry, I got one more question"

"W- what's that?" Deb manages.

"Why did the on-duty nurse call in saying that a woman who matched, Hannah McKay's exact description, bring in Dexter's son".

A pang of hate bursts through her worry, and Deb gains a little more comfort.

"The nurse said that, Hannah McKay, brought, Harrison, to the hospital. How the fuck does she know what, Hannah Mckay, look like?"

"Well no – she said that she brought him in under a false name".

"Whose?" she challenges.

"Yours"

"... That's because I fucking did!" she lies, her voice raising.

"She also said that she went under the pretence that, Debra Morgan, was the child's mother".

"Well fuck me, for wanting my nephew to be seen quicker!".

"Wo wo wo, why are you getting so defensive here?" he asks raising her hands, stepping into her personal space.

But Deb takes a step further, "because I don't like what you are fucking accusing me of"

"And what's that?"

"Protecting a wanted fugitive"

Angel steps out of the interrogation room, obviously overhearing the loud voices and everyone's attention is momentarily turned on him.

"The nurse also gave me a description of, Debra Morgan", the marshal gains back the attention, "guess what, spitting image of, Hannah McKay"

"The nurse, who conveniently knew your number, to say that someone she thought looked like, Hannah McKay, had stepped into the hospital"

"I can check the hospital's CCTV", he challenges.

"Well fucking do, and let me get the fuck back to my work!"

"Deb?"

"MAMA!"

Deb looks behind the marshal to find, Dexter, walking towards him with a squirming, Harrison, in tow.

Her eyes look desperately over him for any signs of hurt, but she cannot see any.

Was the marshal lying ...?

Finally, Dexter, puts the three year old down, letting him run into Deb's ready arms.

Harrison starts howling, crying out her name, and Deb finds herself also crying. She realises that Harrison is probably crying because he has not seen her for five days, but for her, how close she really was from death, dawns on her.

"I'm so sorry, Harrison", she cries, bringing him in even tighter into her embrace. Inhaling his scent deeply. "Mama's so sorry".

* * *

_12:06_

Sat in the back of her BMW, Harrison, by her side in his car seat. His little hand locked in hers, he fights sleep that is begging for him to give in.

"He's hardly slept since, Monday, crying for you", Dexter, speaks from the front.

Deb eyes him suspiciously. There is so much she has to say to him, but she does not know where to start. He of course, had expertly taken control of the situation. Apologising to the marshal for Deb's outburst, blaming it on the stressful couple of days that she has had, witnessing her friend dying; and then thanking him for the round the clock surveillance protecting his family. Whether or not the marshal believes Dexter's words is another story.

"Harrison is going to be OK", Dexter assures her through the rear view mirror, "Hannah risked everything taking him to the hospital".

Deb raises her eyebrows and looks out one of the passenger windows. In between tears, Harrison, had proudly pointed out his stitches underneath his chin whilst they were in the lift.

"The marshal said that he was going to check the hospital CCTV. I don't know what you and your girlfriend are going to do about that".

Dexter sighs, indicating, "she is just a friend".

"Whatever", she frowns at the scenery, realising she does not recognise where they are, or where they are going, having been escorted into the car by, Dexter, in a weary haze. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you back to, Vogel's. You'll be safe there".

"Why the fuck do I need to be safe? No, Dexter. Take me back", her fingers worry her forehead, "they have, Quinn's death down as drugs related. They found a quarter of a million worth of cocaine in his living room".

"Well - ".

"There is no fucking well, Dex. He's been fucking set up".

Dexter frowns, his eyes narrowing on her, "how can you be so sure?"

"Because I know him. Fuck, there was a time when I thought I was going to marry him...", the memory of Quinn's head been blown off, combined with the wedding box he left that time in their fridge, flashes through her, and she closes her eyes tight.

When she opens them, she finds, Dexter's sad eyes watching her closely.

"Regardless as to whether he did or didn't. I think you should keep your distance. If that's what they have got them for. You don't want to be linked to the crime"

"What about when the marshal searches through the hospital CCTV and finds a, Debra Morgan, who looks a fuck a like a wanted fugitive".

He sighs, refocusing his attention on the road "I'll deal with it". They flick back to her, "if you want me to look into Quinn's death, I can try- "

"NO, I don't want your help. I want you to turn this car the fuck arou-"

"Deb", his terse voice takes her by surprise. "You need to sleep. If that's not enough, Harrison needs to sleep".

Deb looks down at the little man that she almost forgot was attached to her, and is pretty sure he is sleeping with his eyes open.

...

Deb wakes up before the sun on, Thursday, morning. She ruffles Harrison's hair, checks on, Astor and Cody, before plodding down the stairs. She walks into the study and is surprised to see, Vogel, up; in her nightgown, staring worryingly into space.

Deb raps on the wood of the door, and Vogel looks up in such shock, that Deb feels guilty.

"Oh it's you", she breathes, removing her hand away from her heart.

Deb pushes herself off the door, "who did you think I was to rebuke such a reaction?" she asks, taking the comfier seat next to her.

Vogel, smiles at her, "touche".

Deb smiles too, "well, I have years of experience in the interrogation room", she sighs, and both women get lost staring at the other until Deb can take it no longer.

"So", she laughs, clapping her hands together, "where is, Dexter?"

"If he hasn't told you, then I can't tell you", she smiles sympathetically at Deb.

Deb nods, "well then tell me more about the person who has been keeping my brother away from me".

...

"... so you taught, Dexter, the code?" Deb asks carefully, processing this new and quite monumentous information, even more unsure now, about how she feel towards, Vogel.

Vogel, pushes up her lips slightly, her eyes get lost staring into space, as if not certain about the answer that will come from her lips, "not quite ... but to an extent, yes. I more helped your father get through his emotions over, Dexter, and what he could see him becoming".

"So, you never actually talked to, Dexter?"

Vogel, shakes her head, "the first time I saw your brother was in, February"

"Why then?" Deb asks, not missing a beat.

Vogel smiles, and looks down into her palms, "to see him ... and there was a favour, I had to ask him".

"A favour?"

Vogel is silent. And Deb gets the message as to what is silencing her: Dexter.

"... So?" Deb starts, "who was it that taught, Dexter, the code? Who was it that fucking told him it was OK for him to kill -"

"to kill: murderers who have killed their wives; psychopaths, who rape teenage girls before unceremoniously burying them face down, in some god for saken shallow dug grave; low lifes...?" Vogel, challenges in a soft tone, that gives the impression of explaining a simple maths equation to a child.

Deb bites her tongue. Raising her eyebrows, when, Vogel, reaches across the table to grab her hands in between her own palms.

Her hands are warm, and impossibly soft. Fragile, despite the strong grip.

It is as if she is praying, pleading her to understand.

"As I have said", she continues, "Dexter, has these urges. He can't fight them, the same way that some people can't fight the urges to copulate..."

Studying, Vogel's face with an intent frown, Deb shys her eyes away, her cheeks heating, wondering again, how much, Dexter, has told, Vogel, about her.

"... They crave that release. We can speculate when, Dexter's urges started, but in consideration of the fact that, Dexter's brother, Rudy..."

Deb's eyes shy away again, swallowing hard over the mention of, Rudy. Flashes of his assault over her run through her mind, like they always do when she thinks of him... and then... the image of, Dexter ... hovering over her ... casually talking over her, while her naked body is wrapped tightly, in her brother' kill room. A kill room that looks much like, Dexter's own... another flash ... the old abandoned church ... Dexter, plunging the knife into, Travis Marshall ... the look of disbelief on, Dexter's face when he saw her standing there ... she had felt and tasted sick, make her way up her throat, only to go back down again.

That image had always taunted her... the image of, Dexter, hovering over her... idly chatting to his brother that was trying to kill her ... Was it real ...? Her reading material in the cave, had confirmed to her, that yes, it was real...

Vogel, rubs her hands, lovingly. She stares down at there hands, because the action is almost motherly, and yes, soothing. It's only then that she realises the streams of wetness down her face, she is crying.

She sniffs, abruptly pulling her hands away from, Vogel's captivating hold, to wipe her tears away. Vogel, does one better and passes her a tissue. "Well, I don't believe it", she says weakly, accepting the tissue.

"... Did you have an affair with my father?" Deb timidly asks, staring at the scrunched up the tear ridden tissue that she plays between her fingers. Her eyes still stinging with tears that still want to be dropped.

" ... Is it really that important to you that you know?" Vogel asks, motheringly.

Deb blinks, anger rising in her "I think it would be fucking important to my mother", she bites out.

"... But your mother is dead, and you are not Harry's wife, you are his daughter...", Deb frowns over her reasoning, "... do you think Harrison, or Astor and Cody, should feel away towards you because you have sleeping with their mother's husband?"

Deb's breath hitches, "... Dexter, told you"

"No, but you just confirmed it", she smiles, "Harry always said that he thought your love for your brother went beyond sibling affection".

"He did? ... "What about, Dexter...?"

"Dexter is a psychopath, he has no emotions", she says bluntly, leaning back in her chair.

"Well I think you're fucking wrong", Deb retorts, her anger returning, "and I think it was fucking fucked up that you would tell a teenager, a young boy, that it was OK to kill!"

"He was already having the urges, Debra", Vogel soothes, capturing Deb's hands again, and her tissue in her palms, "he was already killing animals, it was only a matter of time before he ... before he progressed. It was done out of love, Debra"

Deb's mind flashes to the dead cat that she found outside her front door. Jonah Mitchell. He was now, Dexter's young protegé. "... Dexter loves...", she wobbles, again, she had not even realised she had been crying, "he loves", she says more defiantly, "he loves, Harrison. He loves, Astor and Cody... he loves- "

" – you", Vogel finishes.

Deb falters, " – yes".

"You're correct", Vogel says warmingly.

"He does?"

"He does. Despite his traits, he really does love. He should have killed you. When you found out the truth about him. Survival. That is what any other normal psychopath would have done. But because of this love for you, he craves to be normal, to be rid of his urges. There are only a few others I have counselled that I have come to the same conclusion", she says, retracting her hands, and Deb immediately misses their warmth. "And you", Vogel, is getting something out of the bottom drawer of the desk they are sat around, but she glances her gaze back up to, Deb. "You are at the heart of it. I think he loves you more than anyone in this world, more than his own son"

Deb is speechless for a few moments, and Vogel goes back to retrieving her Mac, a stack of CD cases, and a pile of sheets of paper, placing them gently, and with precision on the table.

Deb frowns at the top sheet, a child's brightly coloured Crayola drawing. He sure doesnt fucking show it", Deb finally finds her voice, " – one moment he is hot, the other cold. I don't know if he is going to be violent or loving. Its like, its like - ", Deb exclaims, getting more and more frustrated.

"- Its like he is two people in one", Vogel, finishes. "That's because he is. There is, Dexter, the serial killer, and Dexter, who wants to be normal. It's an ongoing battle. With one sometimes overpowering the other for periods of time. But now, now he is ready to give up; to start again. Now is the time, when the serial killer, his 'Dark Passenger', as Dexter calls it- ", and again, Deb is ashamed that this is first time she is hearing knowledge that has been part of, Dexter, from a strangers lips. " – Now is the time, his dark passenger is going to put up his biggest fight", she finishes.

Deb nods, almost feeling, forgiving, of Dexter, and maybe more, sympathetic. Her eyes shoot up to, Vogel. "Fuck you're good".

"I told you", Vogel, smiles, "I know you".

"Well how do I get him to trust me?" she asks, all of sudden, Vogel, has become her Guru.

"Start with his past- "

" – I know his past", her memory flicks back to the cave.

"No, I mean, Dexter, before he was your brother. Dexter, when he was Harrison's age, Dexter, before he became the brother you hate", she indicates to the stack of CD cases.

"What are they?"

"Dexter's dark passenger. They start from Harrison's age, with his drawings", she pushes the pile of papers forwards, "then my consultation videos with your father", she pushes forward the Mac and the discs, "when Dexter, was about seven. He talks about your birth too", she smiles, "when Dexter was eight, and how happy he was to see you. I think there is also a portrait of you", she smiles, flicking her finger through the paper pile. "Are you tired?"

Deb shakes her head.

Vogel, breathes in, "well, I haven't slept", she closes her eyes, "I think now it will come. I will leave you to go through these at your own pace", she says standing up.

Den frowns, "won't, Dex, get mad?"

Vogel stops by the door, "he asked me to show you them. He wants you to understand".

...

_07:21_

_He wants you to understand_

Vogel's words recount themselves in Deb's mind, for the hundredth time on her way to work.

She had borrowed, Vogel's car; although, Vogel, herself did not know. She also did not know that she had been left in charge of the children, until Jamie picked them up.

Deb bites her lip.

Dexter, said that they would be safe there...

She had left notes by both Astor's and Vogel's bedside, telling them to call, Dexter, and let him know that he would have to ask, Jamie, to look after the kids if he could not. She could not have asked Jamie herself. She was pretty sure that she was not amongst her favourite of people. They did have one enemy in common however, and that was, Quinn's killer. Angel, had agreed to meet her at half past seven, for her interrogation; whilst the building was still relatively quiet.

Parking in her designated, 'Captain', car park, she walks through the deserted lot.

_He wants you to understand._

It had been strange seeing her father on camera, so distressed over, Dexter. It was also strange, how much he had talked about her in those sessions, how much she had came up. She guessed it was also ... comforting. The father and brother she thought that she had never pleased, she was in fact their shining beacon.

Tears start to form in her eyes.

_He wants you to understand._

Her mind thinks to the final disc in her bag, which she had found in the bottom of, Vogel's desk, once she had broke into it. 'Dexter Morgan: Last session'. He obviously does not want her to understand everything or he would not have hidden it from her. She has not watched it yet. Whilst the consultations have been revealing, and definitely answered a lot of questions. It has also been very draining, emtionally as well as physically; and raised a lot of other tiresome but niggling questions. But they were questions that had time to answer. If they did not resolve, Quinn's death; he would go down as being a drug lord.

...

Entering the main building front foyer, she gets stopped.

"Debra Morgan".

The US 'Fucking' Marshal.

"Yes", she hisses, trying to be polite, "how can I be of help to you?" she smiles through her aggravation.

"Guess what? No CCTV in the hospital. Apparently, they were down all day".

"Bummer"

The marshal takes an incriminating step forward into Deb's personal space, and a guard stands to attention, pulling him roughly by the shoulder of his jacket.

"I will bring you and your brother down".

...

Deb is not worried by the marshal's threat. Dexter has been leading a secret identity, almost all his life, he knows how to cover his tracks.

Entering the bull ring, she finds, Winslop, hovering around, Quinn's desk. Rifling through his drawers. She is surprised that they have not been taken and logged already.

"Winslop?" she asks.

Getting closer to the desk, she immediately notices one of the items.

The wedding ring box.

_Her_ wedding ring box.

She zones in on it, in some kind of trance.

Picking it up, she opens it.

It still has the diamond engagement ring.

"Who do you think it was for?" Winslop asks.

Eyes wide, she raises an eyebrow. "Me", she clears her throat, breaking her trance, "it was for me", she clarifies, putting it gently back down, "but I said no", her finger rims the midnight blue velvet container, before pushing it further away from her.

"What are you doing, going through, Quinn's desk?" she asks, folding her arms.

Winslop shrugs his shoulders, "grasping at straws".

Deb nods.

"Did you find anything?"

He purses his lip, "not really".

"Well, it's all going to have to be catalogued", she says absently, her mind drifting off again to that fateful morning – which... was only yesterday...

She winces, closing her eyes tight, as a memory flashes through her.

"You OK?" Winslop asks, resting a heavy hand on her heavier shoulder.

"I'm fine".

"Have we gotten any further as to who the killer was, or why?"

Angel emerges into the bull ring from the interrogation room, probably wondering where she is, she said, half past seven. She glances at her watch, and it is now quarter to. At the same time, her phone goes. She knows by the ring tone it's, Dexter.

"No, not yet. But we will", she nods at Angel to let him know she is coming, and then roots in her jean pocket for her cell.

"... So, what are your plans for lunch?" Winslops ask.

"Qui- look", Deb snaps, stopping him short, and he looks bewildered. "I'm sorry if I led you on or something, but I am not interested. Thank-you for your help yesterday with the marshal, also for helping us with Quinn's murder, but I'm really not fucking interested in you and me. So quit it", she lets out a heavy sigh before answering her cell.

"Dex, I can't speak right now. I'm about to go into a meeting, are the kids OK? Is Jamie with them?... Good", she frowns, he sounds as though he is at an airport, "... no, Dex, I'm hanging up. I'll call you after my meeting".

Deb turns to quickly apologise to, Winslop, for her outburst, but he has already left. She spies his figure marching down the corridor, cell phone to his ear. She feels guilty about her blow off, but then it is just, Winslop ... she will call him later and apologise. That is if he does not bump into her before.

...

_08:12_

" – so, he didn't mention anything. Anything, anything, that could link him to the cocaine that was found in his apartment?"

Deb pushes up her bottom lip, shaking her head. "Nothing".

"Did he mention anything about why maybe someone would want to kill him?"

She shakes her head again. "No".

"OK", Angel sighs, "so give me an account of that morning, what did you guys talk about?"

...

_08:15_

"... then he started talking about, Operation Duckling - "

"What was he saying about Operation Duckling?"

She makes a face, "he was rambling on how the CCTV would help find the link between that case and the other trafficking cases you guys were looking into a-"

Angel shakes his head dismally.

"What?"

"Nothing. ... Just Quinn ... he was a better man than all of us. Adamant for justice until the end, even if we were lost going round in circles, biting our own tail".

"... Yeah...", Deb agrees, and they share a sad smile. "... Have you thought to ask Jamie?" she asks, her face heating, she cannot look Angel in the eye. "Quinn had said, how they were kind of together ..."

"Yeah, I will. But lets keep this as much on the down low as possible. Until we are certain".

...

_08:52_

Deb knocks hard on Matthews' office door, before entering.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Yes", he says, getting up and indicating to the chair opposite him. "Sit".

Deb's eyes widen, it almost sounded like an order.

She goes to close the office door, but Matthews shimmies behind her and locks it himself.

Uneasy, she takes a seat.

Matthews takes a seat, it seems like Deb, he is also uneasy.

They sit in silence for a while, Matthews looking like he is trying to find the right words, and Deb wondering what the fuck those words are going to be.

"...Sir...?" Deb asks, when the silence becomes unbearable.

Matthews goes to open his mouth, and then closes it again, "...Debra ..."

"Yes", holding her breath.

"Detective Quinn's murder investigation. I want an update"

"An update?" she relieves.

"Yes, an update".

"It depends, sir. How much do you already know?"

"Well let me go straight to the point", he straightens his tie, "I have heard talk that two hundred and fifty K worth of cocaine was found in his apartment, and may give reason to his death".

"Yes, there is that claim", Deb straightens the sleeves of her mustard cardigan.

"Claim? You don't believe it?"

"No I do not, Sir"

"And why is that?"

"Because I know – I knew, Detective Quinn, Sir. He has being set up".

Matthews leans back on his chair, and nods. "Remember when I said for you to keep your friends close and your enemies closer"

"Yes"

"This is why. Be wary of your enemies, Debra. Be wary about going against them and its consequences".

...

_09:01_

With everything already swarming around, Deb's mind, Matthews' warning gets swept under the carpet, so to speak. Barging back into the interrogation room, she stops short when she sees, Angel _and_ Dexter, hovering over, Dexter's Mac.

" – but I thought, Masuka, said...", Angel trails off noticing her, "Deb".

She is silent, her eyes narrow on, Dexter. "What are you doing here?" she accuses.

"Helping. What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting"

"Helping, how?" she asks, squinting at the images on the Mac screen ... she has seen some of these profiles before, "... is this from, Operation Duckiling?"

"Dex, hacked into, Quinn's recent laptop history before he died, this is what he found. Also an anonymous email about a package with some CCTV information surrounding the Operation Duckling case?"

"Yeah", she says, walking closer to the screen – she does not miss the way, Dexter's teeth grit, "Quinn mentioned something about that the morning he died ... he would have said more if I had not stopped him ...", she curses herself for blowing it off for anything more than paranormal ramblings. "It's not hard to see the _type_ this guys prefers", her eyes flick to, Dexter, and his lips thin. "Is this all of them?" she asks scrolling through the electronic case files images.

"This is only one page, the last four months or so..."

Dexter.

"... We've so far only managed to check records over the past two years, but it probably goes back further. And it is not _type_ specific".

Deb meets his glare, and she holds it; even with the knock on the interrogation room door.

"Come in!" Angel shouts, and Dexter and Deb, turn their attention to the door.

"LT", and Angel, gets up, leaving them the room.

Deb's focus remains on the door, but Dexter's turns to her.

"...You think I have a type?"

Deb snorts, "Rita, Hannah, Lumen, Cassie ... they all look kind of similar, or didn't you notice?" she meets his eyes.

"Yeah, but I chose you".

"If you chose me, Dexter, why the fuck do I have one of them in my house, and the other one looking after Harrison?"

"Because Harrison wanted to spend time with her, Astor and Cody did too. They remember her, and all seem to really like her, I think because they remind them of, Rita".

"Well fuck me for not being blonde and blue eyed. Now you can all move to, Argentina, and pretend that noth-"

"Argentina? How did you hear about, Argentina?" he asks sternly. "Deb?!" he demands, when she does not answer straight away.

She rolls her eyes, "Quinn, told me".

"How did, Quinn, know?"

"I don't know. What don't you get a God damn wiggie board out and fucking ask him!" she shouts.

"And you believed this? That I would leave, and go without you? Is that why you were there with him that morning, in his bed?" he asks hurt.

"Well, was he lying?"

"Answer my question first"

Deb is silent.

"I thought, I thought you loved me...", he uses that childlike voice that cuts, Deb, everytime.

"I can't love someone I don't trust"

"You don't trust me?"

"Fucking A!" she shouts, getting up but he catches her arm in his fist. "Get your hand the fuck off me, Dexter", and he does. She walks to the door and then stops, "and it's not just about me not trusting you Dex, you don't trust me".

"But I do- "

"Fuck you do", she reaches for the handle.

"Wa – wait", he says, rushing over to her, "please", he indicates to one of the chairs, "ask, whatever you want to know, and I will tell you".

"Why is, Hannah McKay, back in your life", she asks without moving to sit, but Dexter, does and Deb watches him distrustingly from where she stands.

"Because she needed my help, escaping her husband. She wanted to start a new life. In Argentina", he says pointedly.

"By help, you mean, kill?"

"Yes".

"Did she ask you to go with her?"

"Yes, but I said no".

Deb nods, "why is your other friend in my house?"

"Because she was being threatened, by Hannah, who was trying to get my attention. I had confided a lot in Hannah, when we were together, it helped me-"

Deb swallows a vile lump.

" ... it soothed me ... but for all the comfort I gained, she's used it against me. She knew how I had helped, Lumen, gain justice from her kidnappers, and was leaving messages in her underwear", Dexter pauses, and Deb, thinks on the underwear she had thought, Dexter, was leaving out for her. "... Taunting her that she would tell the authorities. Lumen, thought it was me, or you", he makes eye contact with her again and she raises her eyebrows, "but when she told me, I knew it was, Hannah, indirectly telling me, that she was looking for me. I had kept, Lumen, in my apartment, and then when mine became unsafe, I moved her to yours – but she is not there anymore. Hannah has gone".

"Gone?"

"To Argentina, she was on the 08:00 flight"

Deb snorts again, "did you drive her to the airport?" She coos.

"No", Dexter frowns.

Deb's face goes serious, "the last time you told me, Hannah McKay, was gone from our lives, she turns up a few months later, drugging me and leaving me to die in a cave. No one is safe until she is one of your blood slides".

"I no longer, I'm trying not to be that person anymore, Deb. I thought ... you would be happy because of that"

Deb shifts uneasily on the spot, "Lumen's baby, is it yours?"

Dexter, screws up his face, "no, Deb!"

"You act like I should be ashamed for asking that question, it's fucking possible".

Her anger quickly turns to pain, with her next question is on her lips, "why...", she falters, and clears her throat, looking down at the grey lino tiled flooring, "why ...", a tear splatters on to the ground echoing loudly, and Dexter, rushes to get up. He cups her face in his hand and rubs it soothingly, Deb lets him do it for a while and then she pulls away, "... why did you leave me in that cave by myself?"

"I did not know you were in that cave!" Dexter implores, "you have to believe me, Hannah, drugged both of us, but she would not tell me where you were until I helped her kill her husband, and find a new identity. Angel, called me to tell you that you were back in the office, and I came to you straight away. But I was so, so worried about you", his hands capture her face again, and she lets him rub it soothingly again, getting lost in the others' eyes. Dexter lean in for a kiss, but she pulls away. There is too much new information to process to know if she is ready for kiss, and she still has more questions.

"I have one more question"

"Just one?"

"No", she laughs, "but I think it is all I can handle for one day", he waits patiently, "what have you been helping, Vogel, with?"

Dexter retracts, breathing in deeply. He rests the back of his head against the wall. Deb is certain he is going to blow her off.

"Vogel, came to ask my help a couple of weeks into the new year, just after you had ... disappeared", he turns his head towards her, before turning it back so he is again staring at the wall opposite him, "she had been helping us with a case, but approached me once it was closed, asking me for my help. I was interested by her, because she seemed to know so much about me, and I couldn't fathom why. I was pretty sure she knew I was the Bay Harbour Butcher, and thought that I would have to kill her...", he turns to look at, Deb, to check that she is still following him, and she is, with intent. "Bu-"

He is interrupted by, Angel, barging through the door. His face a combination of sorrow, shock, and action.

"Miller's dead", he gulps, "she was found, just like, Quinn ... and...", his eyes fall, "Jamie just called ..."

"Is everything alright?" Dexter asks, springing off the wall, Deb, watches him frantically grab for his cell, but to no avail.

Angel, shakes his head, "it's Astor, Jamie says she is missing..."

**_So that was the twist I saved for this chapter, and I think it worked better at the end of this one. I don_****_'_****_t know, is it a twist, maybe more like a cliff hanger. Until next update!_**


	12. End Game?

_continued ..._

End Game?

_Miami Airport  
11:07_

Flight 347 to the Bahamas. Its frequent, quick, and out of harm's way.

Clutching tightly on to, Harrison, his head plastered to her chest, wet from his tears; Deb's hands soothingly rub his forehead, and his back. She is pretty sure he is unaware of what is actually going on, but frightened by the speed of which everything is happening, and feeding off everyone's obvious disarray. None more than Deb herself, who holds on to Harrison, like he is her life line, until she realises, it is time for him to say goodbye.

To Dexter, that is, and she unwillingly lets him go.

Everything was happening so fast. One moment they were in the interrogation room, the next, Dexter, was hauling them down the freeway to the airport. Although, as far as she was concerned, all were still relatively oblivious to what was actually going on. Quinn? Miller? ... Astor? But one thing was sure, it was a direct hit on Miami's homicide team.

Astor ... she knew better than to talk to strangers.

Dexter has now said his goodbyes to Cody and Harrison, promising to bring him and their sister back to them. To Jamie - Angel is also there with them. A few muttered words to Jonah, a faithful nod in reply. Now it only leaves her. With a sniffling, Harrison, back on her hip, and Cody, close by; she is all of a sudden tongue tied.

Words of comfort fly past her mind in her haze.

He nods, disappointment in his eyes, over her unwillingness to ... ? Let her guard down ... ? Forgive ...? Accept ... ?

"Look after my family", he directs once more to, Jonah, before disappearing back out the gate with, Angel.

And Deb cannot shake the feeling that it is the last time she is going to see him.

* * *

_12:14_

Through the slats, Dexter sits in his apartment, alone, and surrounded by cardboard boxes, slowly filling of his possessions. His face rests heavily in his hands.

Deb, tries the door, finds it open and walks in...

Her neck becomes restrained against, Dexter's solid chest, in a hand lock, a syringe at her neck. Her bag of groceries, dropping to the floor.

She holds her breath...

... waiting ...

With a heavy sigh, Dexter, releases her.

"You triggered the alarm sensor pad...", he holds his glare on her. "I guess it was too much to ask you to walk away. But I had thought, for Harrison's sake..."

"Fuck you. Harrison, is the exact reason why I am here".

He purses his lips.

She looks around her feet, "I have to say, packing, was the last thing I expected to find you doing".

Dexter kneels, resuming his boxing of the kitchen. "I'm waiting ... you can't be here".

"... For who?" she asks, thinking how much, Dexter, looks like, Harrison, when he is building a sandcastle.

"Deb", Dexter warns, stilling his actions.

"I'm not leaving you, Dex", she says perching on a box, "So you might as well tell me. Who?"

...

"... so... Vogel's son, that's who you think has taken Astor?" They are still sat in relatively the same position, Deb, sat, hovering over, Dexter, and he, with the same egg timer rolling in his hands, cross legged on the floor, as if building a sandcastle.

Dexter nods, "and right now his video is being broadcasted, as Miami's most wanted"

"Fuck, he's going to be pissed".

Dexter nods, "which is exactly why I need you not to be here", he looks up at her pointedly, "why I needed you to be in, Nassau, with Harrison and Cody".

"How can you be so sure...?" she asks, ignoring his request. "That it is him who took, Astor?"

"Because just last week, he threatened me, that if I didn't back off, my family would suffer the consequences... I backed off, obviously he hasn't".

"Do you think, he would have ...you know ...hurt her?"

Dexter twitches, "no. It's me he wants. He just took her as insurance"

"Why?"

Dexter, shrugs, "jealousy, I think..."

"What about, Vogel?"

Dexter's face darkens, "she has made it very clear, that she does not want my help"

"So, you're just going to leave her... unprotected".

Dexter stands suddenly, agitated, "she's not my primary concern, Deb. She doesn't want my help. Astor, needs my help".

"But she knows, about you broadcast-"

"Yes, she knows!" he snaps, his voice bellowing, and Deb stills out of fear. "I'm sorry... I'm just ... I'm just ...", he closes his eyes.

"I'm going to make us something to eat", Deb whispers, walking over to the spilled items of food near the front door.

...

"...You were right", Dexter contemplates through bites.

Deb looks up, shocked that he has broken their silent meal.

"What you said to me ... that time, in the motel room ...", Deb's mind flashes back, a heated argument, turned to a fast, heated encounter. Tongues, saliva, sweat, skin. Sex.

"... you said I was like a plague", Deb leaves her memoir and refocuses back on the here and now. "At first, I thought it was just because you were angry at me. But the more I think about, the more I realise...you are right. Rita, you, Astor, D-", he stops, and looks up at Deb, "did you watch the consultation videos...?" he asks again.

Deb moves her mouth to answer, but gets cut off.

"I need you to watch them ... I need you to understand".

He sighs, throwing the egg timer in the box and getting up to walk further into the middle of the room. He stands. Looking so prominent in the emptying space.

"...How long before, Harrison and Cody, suffer the brunt of my alternate life...", he asks, not Deb, not the universe, but himself. "Harrison already has ... his imaginary friend, his dark passenger... Born in a pool of blood ... just like me, just like Briny... is his future already set in stone, have I ruined my son's future ...?"

Tears have accumulated in, Deb's eyes, and she finds her feet rushing over to, Dexter.

She stops, his back facing him.

Slowly, she rests her hands on his shoulder blades, resting her head in the middle, breathing in his scent.

He flinches at first, before easing into her touch.

They stand like this, at ease, for what seems a long time, she can feel him start to turn, but then his phone goes off.

Dexter, sighs, pulling his cell out of his pocket... "It's Angel", he says after reading the text, "he says, Masuka, is still not at work, nor his apartment".

"What the fuck does that mean?" Deb asks, removing her hands quickly to cover her mouth, "do you think...", she cannot finish her words, as flashes of, Quinn, dead on the floor flicks through her mind. Could the same of happened to, Masuka...?

"I don't know what that means", Dexter says, not turning around, "... I can't afford to think what that means".

_16:27_

"Dex", she nudges him awake from his slumber on the couch. She has watched him sleep for the last hour and a half. He must have been tired, once she coaxed him on to the seating, he was out like a light.

"Wha-?" he asks, waking up with a start. He frowns until his eyes adjust and he sees that it is her. He frowns again. "What's happened?"

She passes him his cell, "it started ringing, it's, Vogel".

* * *

They pull up a block away from, Vogel's house half an hour later.

Dexter, quickly unbuckles himself and opens his door.

"Dex...",Deb stops him, forgetting her words that she rehearsed in the silent, tense drive over. "I ... All of sudden she wants your help ... what if this is a trap...?"

"It probably is but, I'll be faster than him". He rests a hand on her knee, "Deb, I have to do this. I have to end, this. And then we can leave, and start again"

Deb looks down at Dexter's hand encasing her knee. "Leave Miami... I know it's been mentioned before, but fuck, it's all we've ever know-"

"Maybe that's our problem. Start again. Afresh. Nobody the wiser of our past", his fingers scrape across her knee, his touch going through her jeans... "...I need you to wait in the car, look out for, Astor".

She nods, but as she watches him walk up the sidewalk , the late afternoon sun glistening on his copper blonde hair. She can't help but think, that it is going to be the last time he sees her.

...

She decides to follow him in the end, with her fire arm at the ready, she starts to retrace his steps up to, Vogel's house.

Despite the sun, there is a distinct chill in the air. She takes comfort in the fact that, Harrison, is safe in, Nassau. Cody too. Now for, Asto-"

Immediately drooping to her knees, just beyond Vogel's white picket fence, her train of thought vanishes at the haunting sight in front of her. Watching through the slats of the neighbours' fence, she can see it has obviously thrown, Dexter, off guard too, as he too cautiously lowers himself and his own weapons - his bare hands, on the stoned pathway up to, Vogel's house.

Who must be, Saxon, has a trembling Vogel's neck, locked between his own chest and a short blade knife. The steel eerily twinkles as it is captured by the broad day light.

"Mom's made her decision!" Saxon shouts joyously, before his face going very stony, glaring at his mother, "and guess what", he says, his voice laced with hurt, "again, it's not me. And your not even her biological son!" her roars, before swiftly moving to cut his own mother's throat.

"Miami Homicide, drop your weapon!" Deb shouts, coming out of her hiding place. She can feel, Dexter's angered gaze on her, as he quickly bolts up right.

Shocked, Saxon's movements become marred, but, Vogel's body still slumps against her son's. Blood gushing out of the wound. He drops his bloodied knife, and Vogel. Deb, watches them fall onto the hard concrete floor.

Next thing she hears is a gun shot being fired.

Thinking fast, she fires her own weapon, the bullet capturing, Saxon's neck. Him becoming a lifeless body on top of his mother's flailing one.

Her eyes distressingly search for, Dexter, on the floor, but she cannot find him.

Hazy and confused, she searches desperately for his body in the front yard.

Driven mad by worry, her own body and vision fight to see straight, but she wills it away, she has to get to him. It's at the point she thinks to call 911... Dexter will need medical attention.

"Help -", she rasps, attempting a shout.

She stumbles again, but this time is caught by arms ...familiar arms ... Dexter's ...?

Blurred, her eyes find his grieved ones. Delighted to find him, OK, she is confused at first, but then registers that he must be upset over, Vogel ... then why is he here...?

"Dexter -", she starts to protest, her eyes feeling heavy.

"It's OK", she feels his tears fall on her face, "help is coming", she lets out a loud moan, the pain excruciating, as pressure is put across her abdomen.

"... Dex?" she lets in sharp intakes of breath through her teeth, as he lowers her onto the sidewalk.

"It's, OK", some pressure on her abdomen is released as one of his hands comes to soothe her face. And it is at that moment that she realises that the blood, his hand is covered with, is her own.

Her eyes widen, "Dexter, my ba-", she fights for consciousness, "-by", before blackening out.

...

The first thing Deb realises as she drifts back into consciousness, is the pain. The pain in her abdomen, followed by the pain in her heart. She did not know it could be so painful, had convinced herself that it would not be.

Her eyes crack open on to a bustley scene of paramedics, wires, and organised chaos. They focus on her abdomen, she cannot pick out any of their words through the commotion. She tilts her head back to suppress her tears, and makes contact with, Dexter's red rimmed eyes.

His face lightens when he sees her gaze on him, he attempts to smile, but can't.

She winces as she turns her head to face him more, the pain in her abdomen intensifying, and Dexter's hands rush to stop her movements.

"Astor...?" she croaks.

His eyes tear, "Deb, you can't speak, you need to rest, so that your body can mend itself", he explains, and at the same time, a mask his lowered over her head, she feels a prick in her left arm, and a spurt of liquid flow through her veins, making her weary instantly.

She turns her face, away from the mask. "I want you to know...", she looks deep into, Dexter's eyes, "I watched dad's consultation videos, and I understand".

Dexter's eyes tear, and he nods. Deb, sighs, resting her head back on the pillow, allowing the mask to be put over her mouth, and drift off to sleep.

And she cannot help but think, that this is the last time she is going to see him.


End file.
